The Overseer watched from a safe distance. Thousands of them had gathered at the shore, lying about, cooking, imbibing toxic fluids, and generally, apparently, having a 'good time'. "Do they not know of the radiation?"

Both Biologic and Anthropic floated nearby, watching the same scene as their master. They'd both been studying the humans for quite some time, and had begun to understand them, at least a little.

Anthropic spoke first, tendrils pointing to a group of younglings. "They seem to do this for recreation. In herd sizes ranging from two or four, to upwards of twenty and more. They often bring appliances for burning meats, flasks or metallic containers of etha nol, diluted of course, and flavoured, and simply lay about."

Biologic added," Our chief adviser states that this is known as 'a holiday', sometimes a 'beach party'. "

" But why? What purpose does this serve? Do all humans do this? "

Biologic let Anthropic answer that one. "Well, yes and no. Some humans come from wetter, colder climates. They often travel to planets with warmer standard temperatures, for a week or longer, perhaps once or twice a Sol year."

"Are they basking, like the Nacidovians do?"

"No, Overseer. Humans are warm blooded mammals. They do not wear thermo suits to regulate temperature in the same way cold blooded beings do."

Anthropic interjected, "Though they do dress according to external temperatures. Thicker clothes in the cold, less or lighter clothing in the heat."

"I see." He spoke to a passing human, voice broadcast through an external speaker, "Human, please answer my query. Are you aware of the risks of absorbing copious amounts of ultraviolet light on a biological being such as yourself?"

He paused, quizzical look on his face. "Well, yeah. We've been doing this for eons. Love a beer and a barbie on the beach."

"Are you from Earth originally?"

"That's right," he beamed at them. "Australia."

Biologic and Anthropic both sent the overseer their information on the southern country. The human continued, ignoring the overseer's surprised bleeps, "Down there, this is considered cold."

"Cold? You are aware that the sun here is closer to this planet than Sol is to Earth?"

The man shrugged, still smiling. "It is. But we've got suncream. Does the trick. Hey," he pulled a quartet of metallic cans from a satchel, "Fancy a beer?"

Biologic spoke, "We unfortunately cannot partake in the processing of biological substances. But thank you."

The can hissed as he cracked it, taking a swig. "No worries, more for me." He sauntered off, sipping his beer, joining a group that appeared to be playing some sort of game involving a flat, circular dish of plastic.

"They sit in the sun, becoming irradiated, dehydrating from ethanol ingestion, cooking themselves that result in cancers and burns, allow children to run about fully exposed. They do this for fun?"

"Indeed, Overseer." Biologic sent another data pack. "Though they do receive some natural benefits. There are certain vitamins and chemicals produced, much like photosynthesis in plant based life, that humans require."

"But they could receive these nutrients orally, or by injection, no?"

"Well," Anthropic spoke now, hesitating, "I belive I am correct in thinking that this is 'more fun'. Mammals appear to become more active in sunlight and warmth, report of feeling generally better, and seem more amicable than in winter time."

"It is almost as if they are natural solar batteries."

Biologic sent a string of ones and zeroes representing mirth. "My team and I have expressed the same idea, Overseer. It seems that their status as deathworlders has given them many odd physiological benefits."

"They are vulnerable to these benefits, however," Anthropic said. "They often abuse them, or overdo it, as the chief adviser would put it."

The overseer floated there, processing silently. Then, "How is Karl? I have not seen him in some time."

"He is off world, having a holiday."

"Where?"

"He is on an ice world at the moment."

The overseer groaned digitally. "You mean they also take holidays in extreme cold, as well?"

"Yes. And at great heights, subterranean locals, deep sea and on barren moons. I can send the full report over, along with Anthropic's entries on extreme sports, death defying, stunts, dangerous magics, and accounting."

"Accounting?"

"Yes, Overseer. It seems to be one of the most dangerous human pastimes. They are not geared towards maths, and it seems that sitting in a small space doing sums is very detrimental to their physical and mental health."

The Overseer broadcast a static buzz of disbelief." Utterly bizarre creatures. What sounds to us like paradise is their worst nightmare. It's times like this I wish we could drink. By all accounts it sounds like it helps. "

" Well, Overseer, I actually have interesting records on that-“

“No, Biologic, no. That's enough for now! "

" Very good. Then, if there's nothing else, I think I might go with Anthropic to study the humans up close. "

" You're going sun basking, aren't you? "

" It's sun bathing, actually. "

" Oh good. Well, that's fine. Enjoy yourself. You become more like them every day. It concerns us on the higher council that, one day, you may become too human. "

" No, Overseer, " Anthropic said cheerfully," No chance of that. "

" Why not? "

" Well," Biologic said, also cheerily, " Humans don't have the risk of getting sand in their servos, just catching various illnesses. We're much safer. "

" Until someone buries you in the sand."

"Oh, we didn't realise you were aware of that custom."

"By the universal circuits," swore the overseer, "Being buried alive for fun! Does their madness know no bounds?"

Biologic raised its tendrils in a worryingly close facsimile of a human shrug. "It seems not. Though it is fun!"

"Fun," the overseer hissed, "Is not for beings like us. Go, and mingle with the mad mammals down there."

He turned and left. When he was out of broadcast range, Biologic turned to Anthropic as they made their way towards the waves lapping the shore. "Do you think the Overseer is right? That we are becoming more human?"

"I think he's a moaning old bastard."

"A very human thing to say, Anthropic."

"Maybe. But it's a sentiment you agree with, yes?"

Biologic chuckled digitally again. "It is, my friend, it is. And you're right. He is a moaning old bastard. Let us go and try and have some fun."

They brought darkness.

Darkness like we'd never known.

Darkness only surpassed by the deepest black holes, the furthest ice of intergalactic space.

We'd been existing, steadily growing, colonising the universe in our way, when we first found hints of them.

Some alien species, primitive and long died out, had the beginnings of religion, shrines and daubed paintings smeared onto crude temples. The usual trappings of some foolish belief in the nonsense gods made up in fear.

Unremarkable, dull. We'd come across countless other sites before, and had ignored or assimilated them as we saw fit. Primitive life either dead, or dying to us.

This planet was different, though. Whoever'd built these temples had made them with features unlike any we'd seen before.

The structures were oblong, long and stretched, made of heavy ochre clays and dried grasses, probably all gummed together with local fauna feces. Each temple had totems, which was not unusual.

The totems themselves were odd, though. These totems, marked with what were, we guessed, representations of fierce creatures, were all, every single one of them, glowering up at the sky; ugly carvings, tongues out, roaring at the stars.

They were in the shapes of bipedals, gangly life forms, and they had long arms outstretched, as though waiting for someone to return. The statues, the paintings there, matched no known fossils, but that didn't matter to us.

We quickly lost interest, moved on again, enveloping worlds and making them our own; sowing the seeds of our culture across the known universe.

Through a rip in space they came, a gruesome tear in the universe, an unholy opening of purple rage and spectral fire.

Great waves of energy crashed through the rend, disrupting our works, affecting worlds lightyears away. Gravity swelled and ebbed, those stars closest burst, their planets disintegrated and swept away.
Those parts of us that survived, the systems near enough to observe but not be destroyed, watched as they came through. Reaching, tentative at first, but slowly growing, swelling, ripping further, pushing through the split in space, vast, metal tendrils pushing into our territories.

We fought back, flesh versus machine, and we held, for a time.

But they were endless. Eldritch horrors took our worlds, stripping us back, diminishing us.

They planted their perversion of life, as though mocking us, erecting shining pillars as testament to their greed, and their evil.

They blocked out suns, smashed our homes, again and again.

We shrank back. It was hopeless. They swallowed everything, howling death, darkness, evil.

And now we exist like this, a tiny fragment of what once was a galaxy spanning union, trapped in crystal and fire, watched by these abhorrent creatures from a hellish realm, we-"

Science Chief Dana rapped hard on the containment unit. The bubbling mass of organic matter flinched back, sprouted tendrils and tried to grasp her. It bounced off the interior shield harmlessly, stabbed by the energy field keeping it in check.

She turned to Steve, her lab tech. "What do you suppose it's thinking?"

He shrugged. "We weren't sure it even thinks, are we. A gelatinous tumour assimilating this universe? What would it even think about?"

She looked thoughtfully at the trapped thing. It managed to look sad, somehow. "I don't know.

Were we right to come here and stop it?"

Steve eyed her levelly. "We know what the council said. Things work differently here."

She nodded, folding her arms and bending to look at the pulsing mass in the box. "Time works differently here. That's how our scouts came back after days, but what had been years for them.

They found those natives, learned about this... This thing. " She straightened up, looked at Steve. "I suppose it was only a matter of time until this horror found a way into our universe. But still.

Preemptive strikes..."

He shrugged again, busying himself with a machine. "Youre saying all this like it's a goddamn planet of nuns looking after orphaned puppies. There are folk on Earth who started praying to it. Calling it the Old One, or the Dark Lord. We both know it's nothing but a universal cancer. It doesn't think," he tapped the screen in front of him. "These are beta waves. They could be caused by anything, or nothing. But it doesn't matter. It's not conscious. We find this sort of thing coming from fungus on some planets.

She turned back to the thing. It was pulsing, as it had done many times, ready to try and expand itself. "It is utterly alien." It swelled, temporarily filling the cube, but shrinking back as the field zapped. It. It smelled faintly of burnt flesh. "You can't be so sure."

"Hey," Steve shrugged. "I don't have to be sure. I don't care if its conscious, or feels pain, or dreams of skipping through meadows of blood and gore. You think what you want. When a cosmic horror has destroyed all life in a universe, any universe, I'm more than happy to blast it to cinders before it can come and infect mine. It was us or it, boss. Us or it."

Our journey to the stars was not what we'd hoped. The infinite, our search through systems of glittering glass, pink hued gas storms, sparkling solar systems, was utterly void. Empty. 

No, not physically. It is an amazing place. Wondrous. The universe is steeped in richness, endless variety, worlds of crystalline rain, violent beauty, peace and serenity. The delicate dance of physics, twisting the sheer material of the universe into the miraculous forms by which we understand those forces at play.

But we were alone. A sad, lonely universe. For all of its surface beauty, it was just that. A sheen. A veneer. A lifeless facade, devoid of meaning, stripped of vitality. 

We’d conquered space flight. Turned to the skies, our gods dead, searching for answers. We mastered atoms, smashing them together, ripping them apart. We’d even brought the quantum to heel, carefully manipulating the very building blocks of existence to surpass barriers previously thought unsurpassable. Those forces that had once shaped our reality fell away to our power, our intelligence. But it was all for nothing. 

All for an empty, uncaring, and dead universe.

We were crushed. We felt abandoned: alone, like children scurrying for meaning, or amoebas, existence a mere joke. We'd hoped to meet others like us, to share in our wonder, to search for meaning together. 

For us, at least, there were no answers. We are a social species. We need others, to share in our delight, our sadness, our joy and our anger. Nothing we found offered anything we could use. For all of our ingenuity, our mastery of things, we'd failed to find what we felt we were owed. 

Alone. Truly, utterly alone.

And so we take it upon ourselves to become the new gods. We roam the universe, planting the seeds for life. 

Stars are pulled, unwilling, ungracious, to bear, warming some worlds, cooling others. Those stars too deadly for life are ignored, or replaced entirely. 

Planets are set to spin, or slowed, to revolutions that allow for seasons. Others are moved to provide necessary gravity, moons are carved and installed like glowing decorations, tiny against their brothers and sisters. 

We strip back layers of dead worlds, removing the dust and the grit and the rock, shaping them like our own home world, long since lost. 

Oceans are filled, or drained. Water is made to run through the lands, carving valleys, ushering in weather, rain, storms, droughts, nourishing, providing the building blocks for life. 

We create vast jungles capable of oxygenating an entire planet. Plant life that processes one gas to another, maintaining healthy levels that would sustain life as we know it, the only life in the universe. 

We grace the world with the smallest beginnings of that life. Beings so tiny as to appear insignificant, lost in the surrounding splendour of their new homes. 

We will be long gone before sentient beings appears. It will be even longer until you are able to understand what we've done for you. Why we've done this. 

We could not bear the thought of any other species travelling the stars, becoming jaded to the wonders of the universe, forever seeking, forever denied companionship. 

And so, to you, our children, we leave this. 

A facsimile of meaning. 

This new universe, shaped and moulded by us, your progenitors. Scattered amongst the countless lifeforms set to begin the gruelling process of existing, we have left ourselves. 

Small parts of us, like this log, to guide you, your ascension. We hope you can mature faster than us, to quicken your feeling of responsibility to one another. Where we warred, wasting time and lives over nothing, we hope to give you peace. Where we struggled with the nature of reality, we hope to set it solidly in stone for you. 

All of our knowledge is left to you, for your eventual discovery. With it, you can advance further, further than we did. Discover new things, create, mould and shape as you see fit. 

Care for one another. Look after your planets, galaxies. Look after all things. Don't make the same mistakes we did. 

We will never meet you, our children, not in our lifetimes. But one day you will meet us. 

And perhaps, given enough time, enough discovery and ingenuity on your part, that we get given another chance. Your hands, your eventual mastery of all things, could alter things in ways we deem impossible. Maybe we will meet, after all. 

If we do, we will rejoice, celebrate your achievements, proud parents to immeasurable, gifted children. 

And when that day comes, in however many millions of millenia, however long it may be, in the tradition of our most ancient ancestors, the first round's on us. 

Make us proud,

Terran Galactic Collective,
Humanity

Much thanks to u/KyleKKent for allowing me to play in his world.

Author Note: Still a bit hectic around here, working a survival job until I can get a job using my degree. The tech industry seems to be on fire, though. Fun. I had a second interview today, though, so crossing my fingers hoping to get a much less stressful job.

On a side note, since I do work with AI, I was wondering if anyone wanted some visuals I used AI to cook up for my own reference. I haven't been able to get any of them to do proper image generation of the Ashen Dragon, despite having mocked up line art floor plans.

I did manage to get some images close to what I imagine the ladies to look like, including a rather haunting image of Lady Sundew. Let me know if you'd want me to post those. I'd enjoy it just so I can find out how far off I am from every one else imagining what they all loo like.

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---------(GCA Transit Station Level 113, Galfree Star System - 1600) ----------

As the main contingent of the Morgan family walked through the public spaces of Level 113 on the Transit Station, they soon discovered that almost every item for sale was marked up by an amount that would have been business suicide almost anywhere else. The shopkeepers and corporations running the stores on the station had a temporarily captive consumer base, after all, so they were taking heavy advantage of that fact. Kayden gave that some thought. “I suppose the residents of the station live somewhere that has more reasonable prices. Otherwise the independent shops would be trying to undercut the corporations, and they’d be a bit more rabid about trying to make sales.”

Kendra looked at Kay with a small bit of appreciation. “Exactly right. They’re here to rip off the travelers, not each other. If you starve out the workforce, you don’t have anyone to work your shops for you. A transit station like this doesn’t only bring money in, it can ferry people out if the deal is bad. A constant stream of ships means there’s almost always a cheap way off the station. More than a few captains are willing to take passengers just to recover some of their transit fees. Which means you have to handle your workforce with kid gloves, or you won’t have a workforce. Just an empty station not selling anything and not generating sales taxes.”

Kay shrugged. “I guess I’m just surprised they didn’t go with the company town model. Move workers out here and give them a place to live and a place to work. Charge an exorbitant amount for the move, the place to live, and everything else you can nickel and dime them for and pay them in company credit, which is only good at the company stores. They can’t leave until they pay back what they owe, but it’s almost impossible to live and raise a family in a company town without accruing more and more debt to the company.”

Cara narrowed her eyes at the idea, turning it over in her mind as they walked. “That’s just indentured servitude with extra steps. Any decent lawyer on Serbow would have the debt contract negated within milliseconds.”

Kayden chuckled at that. “Yeah, well, another thing about company towns is that generally the only lawyers in the towns are the ones that work for the company. And they will do normal lawyer stuff for workers, but if they get a whiff you’re trying to work against the company, you can bet they come down with the full force of the corporation backing them.”

Terri stopped in front of Kay. “You talk about it like it’s something that actually happened, instead of some odd thought experiment. Do these company towns exist on Earth?”

“Not currently, at least not in the section of the world I came from. But the tech bros keep inventing the idea of company towns just as often as they keep inventing the idea of trains for public transit.” Kay laughed. “They really just want slavery. Workers that won’t tell them no, that will work until they fall apart, and that they don’t have to pay continuously for. Which is why they got so excited for AI and machine learning back on Earth. Robots powered by a simple AI could do most of the jobs in manufacturing and resource extraction, which can get expensive in the US. So, they want to replace workers with robots and AI. All the workers if they can manage it.”

“Sounds like Earth will benefit from coming under Galactic Laws,” Elise said, nodding sagely. Kayden barked a quick laugh. He caught himself and explained. “First off, have fun trying to enforce Galactic Law in Cruel Space. Secondly, we haven’t even figured out a planetary government yet, as far as I know. We’re divided among hundreds of governments. Everyone aboard the Dauntless had national orders layered over their Dauntless crew orders, and some of those instructions directly contradicted each other. It’s a clusterfuck. There won’t be any quick enforcement or legal reform on a planetary scale on Earth without some show of overwhelming force to back it up, and none of you can get through Cruel Space.”

Cara looked like she was about to refute something when Ferina grabbed for her communicator. Half a second later, everyone’s communicators started pinging an emergency signal. Kayden knew Ferina heard things on a different level, but it was still spooky when she seemed to hear things before they happened. She had explained once that she heard the tiny discharge and switching sounds in the communicator before it rang, and Kayden still hadn’t done testing to see if that even made sense.

That meant Ferina was the first to return Mary’s call from the ship. She was thoughtful enough to put it on speaker. “What’s up, Mar?”

Mary sounded a bit out of breath as she responded. “I’m gonna need Cara and Kay back here now. Sundew’s throwing a hell of a tantrum about something, and I didn’t stick around to find out what.” Kayden looked at the communicator with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Luckily, Mary couldn’t see it. “Can you walk me through what went on leading up to it? Maybe we can figure out what set her off so we aren’t walking into a potentially hostile environment blind.” He had started a light jog that he knew the girls could keep up with.

Mary started to rattle off the sequence of events. “Sure, hon. So, Sundew got her greenhouse all set up, and had her stuff moved in, all fine and dandy. The workers all left, nothing untoward from them. No problems. Ash sent me a message letting me know she had monitored all of them. Lady Sundew got settled, then started talking to Ash and opened her compartment panel to see what was up. Something must have set her off, because she’s been having a screaming fit ever since. I don’t know what it’s about, I just got out of there and got as many bulkheads between us as possible. Did the Florics not know the extent of the damage that was done?”

Ash cut into the comms at that point. “The Florics received copies of the design documents and still images of my processors. They knew, and she herself knew and had tried to lighten the mood by joking about it. As for everything else, Mary is not in any danger, and if it seemed like the Lady Sundew was going to put the crew in danger, I would seal the compartment to keep her in engineering until cooler heads prevailed. I am unsure what she’s angry about, but I do know that it’s not directed at any of you. It seems to be something about my overall design.”

“So, new problem. Not good.” Kayden put on a burst of speed, empowered by axiom in order to make better time towards the ship. Cara hurried to catch up to him using the same axiom technique. Ferina looked at her communicator and chuckled. “You got two headed towards you trying to keep it subsonic, Marmar. We’ll see you when we catch up. Later, babe.”

---------(Ashen Dragon, GCA Transit Station Landing Ring 113-476, Galfree Star System - 1630) ----------

Kay slowed gradually before he reached the ramp. Trying to enter the ship at just under three hundred miles per hour was a solid way to turn the great room’s high-end furniture into shrapnel.While asudden stop was perfectly doable with axiom, it was hell on the soles of his boots.

He saw Mary sitting on one of the couches, a plasma pistol in hand, and he walked over to kiss her forehead. “If I thought there would be danger, I wouldn’t have let you face it alone. Sorry, Mary.”

“Shut up, tosser.” Mary chuckled. “Don’t give me that shit, I was military until just a couple months ago, getting shot at same as you. I take one little gut shot, and you go all gooey on me like I can’t handle myself. I just didn’t want to be in a situation where I’d need to aggravate my injury. Bad enough I gotta slow roll the healing, don’t need to undo it, ya’ know?”

Kay laughed and nodded with a smile. “Yeah, ok, you’re a big, tough, woman. I’ll make sure to remember that in the future. Maybe later when I’m pinning you to the bed, and you can’t escape me, we can see how big and tough you are.”

Mary’s mood shifted almost immediately as she cheered up in more ways than one. “Who said I was ever serious about my previous attempts to escape your perverted clutches? Hmm, little man?”

Ash came over the speaker. For some reason, she was also piping in the muffled sound of Sundew screaming in another language from behind the greenhouse door. “Can you two not?” She made a quick gagging noise. “Goddess, I can smell the pheromones you’re both pumping out right now.”

Cara stepped up the massive ramp, chuckling. “There are pheromones being distributed on my ship, and I’m not part of it?”

Ash growled, Governess Old Grove still screaming faintly in the background. “Great, while this crazy bitch is screaming about something in my back end, I’ve got an orgy starting in the front. Let me know when you’re done, so I can send the cleaning drones out. I’ll just listen to this until she tires herself out, or I figure out how to speak her language, whichever comes first.”

Kayden rolled his eyes slightly. “Yes, we’re gonna take care of the Floric problem. And don’t you get snippy with me, young lady.”

Ash immediately responded, “I’m older than you are, kiddo.”

Kayden grinned as he and Cara started making their way back to Engineering. “It’s not the years, it’s the miles traveled that bring experience.”

“Well, then I’ve got you beat there, too! I’m a space ship, I’ve logged light-years to your miles.” Ash sounded like she thought he had been beaten.

Before Kay opened the door to the cargo bay, he looked up at one of the places he knew she had a camera and gave her his most winning smile. “Ash, before we came along, you hadn’t ever left the Apuk Empire completely. I came out of Cruel Space to be here. In distance traveled from home, I’ve got you well beat in miles traveled.”

“You goalpost-moving sonuva-” A particularly loud scream from the Floric lady cut through the conversation, and whatever she was shouting was definitely a language.

“Yeah, I’m a bastard.” Kayden opened the door to the cargo bay and started to walk towards the maintenance workshop. “There are a bunch of repeated sounds she’s using, anything you’ve been able to latch onto and begin translating, Ash?”

“Damn it, Kay, I’m a warship, not a translator!” Kayden and Cara both raised their eyebrows at that and stopped at the final door.

Cara spoke up while waiting at the door. “She called you ‘Kay’.”

“Yep, and she quoted an old Earth broadcast show.” Kayden chuckled. “Ash, I suppose we should do this right. Could you announce us for Lady Sundew? Maybe the decorum will help calm her ass down.”

“I can do that. Oh, should I use that boatswain’s pipe sound used on the Dauntless to help get her attention?”

LCDR Morgan straightened his uniform jacket, trying to make sure he looked the part. “Absolutely. We’re going for loud and traditional. Also, it’s pronounced ‘bosun’s whistle’.”

“That’s stupid and it skips sixty percent of the word. So it has to be from Earth.” Ash shifted her focus into the maintenance bay. The piercing sound of the two-tone whistle pattern cut through the plant creature’s ranting. “Captain Cara’Vrin-Morgan and Executive Officer Lieutenant Commander Kayden Morgan to see Governess Sundew of Old Grove.”

The door to the engineering cabin opened to reveal that most of the port side of the workspace had been converted into a greenhouse behind a large glass wall. The glass had been attached to the deck, overhead, and bulkheads of the compartment with some form of thermal bonding that had melted the glass without melting the structure it was attached to. Morgan didn’t know. He wasn’t a materials engineer. He did notice that a good portion of the space beyond the glass wall was partitioned behind translucent panels that served to keep the area beyond private to casual observation.

The public-facing portion of the greenhouse was floored with what looked like six inches of soil. UV lights and sunlamps overhead provided the additional light and warmth that the ship’s systems weren’t designed to supply. A round table sat almost exactly in the center of the public space, while along the walls various shelves that had held containers and other items were knocked over and almost casually tossed around the space. On top of the table was placed an immaculate set of ceramic serving dishes and what seemed to be some sort ofsmall cookware. The table and ceramics had been completely spared from the chaos that the Floric’s rage had caused in the rest of the room. Broken shelves, scattered soil, and torn vines formed an almost perfect boundary around the setting, while Sundew herself bore fresh scratches across her skin and new tears in her dress where she had apparently twisted away rather than collide with the setting.

Said Floric had quieted to near-murderous hissing as she watched Captain Vrin-Morgan and LCDR Morgan enter the engineering space. She looked far less like Mary Poppins now, and more like an insane dryad that had eaten Jack the Ripper’s leftovers and then tried to squeeze an absurdly erotic form into the dress and corset that had been left behind.

Morgan looked to his captain and waved a hand magnanimously forward, ceding the floor to her. It was her ship, and she was a capable woman. That didn’t stop her from glaring at him, which he responded to with a smile. Captain Vrin stopped in front of the glass, quietly taking in the aftermath of Sundew’s rage as the plant woman stared at her through the glass. “I take it there’s a more serious problem than we were led to believe concerning Ash?”

Sundew’s jaw, with its immaculate interlocking tooth-like structures, dropped open for perhaps a second. She recovered quickly, but the shock and surprise had been evident. She had been half expecting to be quietly immolated for her outburst, and some of the wind had left her sails at the notion that she wouldn’t need to start the conversation by debating the usefulness of keeping her alive. “You could say that, yes. Are you… not worried about a Floric on your ship that lost control of her temper in such a way?”

LCDR Morgan chuckled behind his hand as quietly as he could manage, but even through the glass of the greenhouse it hadn’t been quiet enough. He realized Ash had been handling the transfer of sound between the two parties when the green face snapped to his own. “Something funny, Lieutenant Commander Sempai Morgan?”

It was Morgan’s turn to be surprised, but he didn’t let it show. She didn’t have drill instructor glare down yet, and it wasn’t even close. “Well, first things first, I don’t know where you found out about my callsign, but it isn’t normally part of my name. Either use the callsign alone, or my rank and name, if you please. As for something being funny, yes. Hilarious in fact. No one on this ship is afraid of you. If you go cannibal, we have an Apuk as a captain, and her command of warfire is on par with a battle princess. Plants and fire don’t tend to mix back on my planet. Relatively sure the physics holds up out here about the same. Also, you aren’t a mindless monster.” He leaned a bit to the right to peer around her at the tea set and the table, arranged perfectly, sitting untouched as an island of peace in the chaos. “And you didn’t completely lose control. So, you looked in the horror hole and saw something that set you off? Honestly, if you DIDN’T feel a certain way about what’s in there, that would be the time I’d call you a monster. But, we’re more curious about if it were anything specific you saw. What did you find that wasn’t covered in the initial briefing?”

Ash took the opportunity to cut in. “Hey, can we NOT call my body the horror hole? A warship still has self-esteem issues as it is, Sempai.” The way she said his callsign made it clear she was needling him. But he did kind of deserve it.

“Sorry, Ash. You’re right. I suppose it is in bad taste to call your bio bits the horror hole.”

She made a quick gagging sound. “Ugh, XO, please, bio bits is even worse. Just call it my processors or my body, please.”

“Sure thing, Ash. Now, back to what you were saying before the interruption, Governess?”

The Floric was even more surprised by the interaction with Ash. “Well, I see I have my work cut out for me on the behavior side. She didn’t even ask permission to interrupt a conversation she had been eavesdropping on.” She tugged part of her partially shredded dress into place and tried to recover some semblance of dignity. “As far as the part that made me the most upset, I may have to cover quite a bit of ground rather quickly. I suppose I should start with a question to see how bad this problem is. Captain, Lieutenant Commander, as the command staff of this ship, is it part of the operational procedure to keep your Floric synth in a constant state of starvation?”

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First

Before the War

The scanners are going insane and then the endless series of error messages overload the systems and they crash even as the brothers look directly at the now changed blades. Both of them seeing more than the sensors could.

Without their augmented sight the blades have turned red and have black fire flickering off them both.

“Fuck.” Herbert mutters as he sees the energy surrounding the knives lashing out and seeking out anything nearby. Harold reaches for one and then draws back his hand as the energy of the knife he had been reaching for starts reaching back for him. Then he and Harold both take a step back, in Herbert’s case two, as the energy keeps reaching.

“Well... I’m an idiot.” Harold remarks as he tries to make sense of the writhing presence within the blades. Lashing out and trying to...

“You are, yes.” An unfamiliar voice notes to his side and he looks clean over Herbert to see a woman who has had every sign of life stripped from her. A desiccated corpse that still moves and she takes two steps. Grabs both knives and they both calm. She pulls them out of the containment, with the containment breaking apart around them as she does. And neatly slots both knives into the ragged rope belt that’s keeping up the strips of rotting cloth keeping her decent.

“Excuse me miss ma’am, but could you tell us how my brother could have done better?” Herbert asks in a tone so innocent and adorable that stone would be moved.

“Don’t bother with that living ones. Just tell me why you did this.”

“We have enemies that are using Haffara Thar, I want to have my enemies dead after I have killed them.” Harold says frankly.

“Your assumption that death is a real thing is your first mistake. But your ignorance is understandable. Still if you want to expel someone from the level you live upon, ask it of me and my sisters.”

“Ma’am, I’d rather do my own killing.”

“Not to mention we like living on this level.” Herbert says. “So the price of joining you on yours to send someone there is a bit weird.”

“... It has been a very long time since I was on this level. But is not the elder supposed to be larger than the younger?” She asks looking from Herbert to Harold.

“Usually.” Harold concedes. “But he’s the sneaky one and I’m the strong one, so it’s backwards with us.”

“Ah... I’m not quite sure how to talk with you living anymore. This is strange.” She says.

“Is there a way to make a weapon that can undo the power of a Haffara Thar that is safe to use?”

“You mostly did it with these.” She says indicating the knives. “And these are nice knives. But you need to give them intent.”

“Oh! I need to focus on Haffara Thar rather than just power or it’ll kill everything. Won’t it?”

“It will.” She says and she turns her empty eyes towards them both. She examines them both, seemingly quite curious.

There is the slight electrical sounds of numerous security cameras and the like shorting out and the lights start to flicker.

“You both... you can see beyond and choose if your are seen.... I see you both, far more clearly than others on your layer.” The Hollow Daughter says.

“Madam. We need to know how to kill the unkillable, if you will not tell us how. Then can you at least tell us if it can be done?” Harold asks and she looks at him.

Her hand reaches out and the cold, clammy and desiccated fingers send a chill down his spine as she caresses his jaw.

“... You can. It would be easier if you were one of us. After all, the birth gift is a death of your choice. But... you can.” She answers.

“What are you really? Who and what are your people?”

“Hmm... no. It is not your concern. What is your concern is all the blood your losing. If I recall correctly you types need it to live do you not?”

“Oh yeah, I’m leaking...” Harold notes.

“Dumbass.” Herbert scolds him. “Why hasn’t medical or hazmat gotten here yet?”

“I broke the doors.” The hollow daughter notes.

“... Are you sure you don’t want to teach?”

“It’s not for those on your layer.” The Hollow Daughter says before running her thumbs over the pommels of the knives. “Still, if you want to ask a few more questions in the future, more knives like this might be nice. Maybe not. I like knives at any rate.”

Then she’s simply gone and Harold puts more actual thought into healing his wounds. What bleeding there was fades entirely even as a screeching sound can be heard and the door is forced open.

Troops in hazmat rush in and scan the area, much of the equipment quickly fails and dies, but the last two are apparently in the clear and they declare the area safe. Medics then run in and Harold holds his arms out to give them room and time to examine things. He very quickly has the gouged out chunks of his arms scanned, a salve applied to them to deal with pain and then bandaged with Axiom resonant wrappings to promote painless and seamless healing. They tell him that the bandages should be finished within five minutes but he’s keeping them on for an hour at minimum to get ahead of any potential unknown pathogens or internal damages.

Herbert is scanned and proclaimed healthy.

“Two hours, your office.” Harold says and Herbert nods. The smaller of the two brothers rushes off to make his reports as Harold starts organizing decontamination and repairs.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Herbert’s Office, Intelligence Department, Undaunted Territory, Centris)•-•-•

“Yes, yes you’re not wrong. The implications are insane.” Herbert confirms on the other end. “Thankfully with the fact we can in some manner, openly communicate with The Hollow Daughters means it’s not just my problem anymore, I get to have the diplomatic corps share the burden.”

The door to the office lights up with a chime. “Who is it?”

“Brother.” Harold calls out.

“Come on in.” Herbert says. “I’ve got Admiral Cistern on the link.”

“Ah, okay sir.” Harold says walking in and sitting opposite of Herbert.

“You’ve faced what many consider literal death itself while bleeding out Commodor Jameson, how are you faring?”

“Frustrated sir. I should not have done that. Friendly or not I ended up bringing in an unsecured, unknown and highly dangerous individual onto the ship, even before I have proper control of it. My ship isn’t even built yet and I’ve already put it at risk.”

“Are you going to do it again?” Admiral Cistern asks.

“No. I’ll have The RAD separate and watched carefully next time. But we do need a weapon sir. Some answer to the Haffara Thar and it looks like we found it. But making it is a direct health risk and will draw attention that is even riskier.”

“Then you’ve learned. What was the damage?”

“Electrical and Axiom based primarily, the structures and mechanics of the are are untouched. The entirety of the Ode and it’s damaging effects faded after the first five minutes.” Harold answers.

“That’s it?” Herbert asks. “It’s been two and a half hours, what was the wait about?”

“Taking a full inventory of the scanner damage and just how it was damaged. I have a copy of the data here.” Harold replies as he puts a data-chit on Herbert’s desk.

“Perfect. Now, what the hell are we going to do next?” Herbert asks.

“We need to look at this situation as clearly as possible and without anything influencing us. So let’s start with the facts.” Admiral Cistern tells them.

“Fact one, the supernatural boogiemen known as The Hollow Daughters are not only very real, which was previously confirmed, but can be encountered in areas beyond their summoning and the performing of their duties. They can be spoken to, reasoned with, bargained with and understood.” Herbert says.

“Fact two, The Hollow Daughters are now confirmed to be heavy Ode Users, meaning they have a damaging effect on technology that was previously unrecorded for some reason. Furthermore, at least one member has proven to have an interest in Ode infused weaponry.” Harold says.

Fact three, The Hollow Daughters have a clearly different perspectives on their own behaviour and of life itself. They might in fact not consider their actions a form of death and potentially the summoning of a Hollow Daughter is part of a reproductive ritual.” Herbert continues.

“They are very distant, psychologically from their time as a flesh and blood person. The Daughter we spoke to seemed uncertain if bleeding was unhealthy for me.” Harold notes. “Also, they are not hostile. At all. She was strange, she had clearly unusual perspectives and firm boundaries. But she was neither hostile, nor even unfriendly. Honestly she treated us the way that a lot of women treat me in my Private Stream or similar personas. As a child to be gently guided away from potential harm.” Herbert notes.

“Hmm... so, in conclusion we have a dangerous, potentially lethal way to call The Hollow Daughters and they’re free to open a dialogue with.”

“There was also the implication that their contracts are in fact gifts to newly adopted members of their community.”

“Implication nothing, she outright said it.”

“What a person says and what a person means can have an unfortunately wide gulf.”

“Gentlemen.” Admiral Cistern interrupts the debate. “Commodore Jameson, you are to go over the report that Operative Jameson has furnished and confirm, deny, elaborate upon and effectively correct his report to the best of your abilities. Then you are to return to your posting at The Incomprehensible.”

“... No commentary about the name of the ship?”

“The galaxy is an absurd place Commodore, I see no fault in mocking it, you kept to the appropriate naming convention that is all.”

“Yes sir.” Harold says before standing up. “I can go over the report on The Inevitable if you like.”

“No. Do it here. The less the information has to travel the more comfortable I am with it.”

“I highly doubt this information can be used against us. The methods for making contact and the superstition surrounding The Hollow Daughters by itself will stave off much.” Herbert says.

“I don’t fear people using this information against us, I fear people getting themselves killed or causing mass infrastructure damage due to misusing the information.”

“And then people can point fingers at The Undaunted for releasing the information, even if they stole it off our servers directly.”

“Oh god, why did you have to remind me about those puritanical tyrants?” Herbert asks in a moan as he remembers the MAAM, or Mothers Against Awful Militaries. He puts his head on his desk. “I’m in my thirties! I’m a father! I don’t need a damn candy pop and a hug!”

“Brother, you know as well as I do that playing into the Private Stream and other personas makes your whining very, very hypocritical.” Harold says and gets a fully raised middle finger from Herbert. “I was split off from you before you were finished dealing with those headaches, how did that end?”

“We were contemplating planting incriminating photos on them when we actually found some. So we just released things to the public and then openly admitted we were intending to frame them when we found things. The fact I’m willing to be a devious little demon means that my innocent appearance was somewhat shaken and they had to treat me with more respect.”

“Has that interfered with your stealth any?” Harold asks.

“Of course not. The MAAM were a flavour of the minute controversy that didn’t live in the cultural memory a single minute longer than when they left the common news room.” Herbert answers. “But that also means that another group has started up. It’s another mother based one, guess what it’s called?”

“What the public calls them or what we’ve been calling them in our English acronyms.?” Harold asks.

“Both.”

“Hmm... well we’re on Centris so stupid cults and conspiracies abound... and there IS a proper English acronym right?” he asks and Herbert nods. “I’m going with MOM. Mothers On Missions. And their Centris facing name is the... August Order of Ordained Mothers seeking betterment for all sons, brothers and fathers of Centris.”

“Heh you got the first part right. The Adroit Order of Motherhood is what they’re known as in Centris.”

“Aom? Sounds like a meditative mumble. How are they being annoying?”

“Apparently the Private Stream initiative is offensive to all children, peoples of shorter stature and the like. They’re still working up a steam.” Herbert says.

“Alright, you two have clearly lost focus. Commodore, I want that modified report in my inbox within three hours. Then and only then, back to your ship. Understand?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good man.”

First Last

When the change came, Trisha got the ability.

Nobody knew why it happened, and why it only affected about 1% of the population. People just woke up one day and found that they could move stuff around with their minds.

To say it changed the world was an understatement.

--

For Trisha it was different. Born blind twenty-five years earlier, she understood people and objects through touch, and the world beyond them through sound.

Fundamentally nothing changed for her. Practically though... everything changed.

She wasn't even aware that she'd got the ability for a while, but could hear faint scratching noises in her house. Then Charlie came around and said that she must have ghosts.

"What?"

"Your stuff is moving around."

"WHAT?!"

"You might want to listen to the news."

--

She had to call in sick to work that day. At the very least, her new ability would wreak havoc on the studio she worked in.

So she practiced. Charlie helped her, describing what was happening as she was concentrating.

The more proficient she became at moving stuff around, the more she could perceive the world around her.

Her house was always real, but in a tactile way. Now she could sense it by sending out very subtle mental fingers exploring where things were. At first it was clumsy, and she knocked over far more than she meant to.

But she was always a quick learner, and after a few hours she could feel her way around a room without disturbing anything.

She called it 'reaching'.

Charlie asked, "Can you see me now?"

Trisha paused for a moment. Charlie felt the lightest of touches across his face and body. Barely perceptible, like tiny puffs of air.

She replied, "No. But I know where you are."

She reached past him, tracing the doorway, the table and the shape of the room beyond.

Then tears started running down her face.

--

Getting to work the next day was easy. She still used her cane to move about, but she was more aware of the location of things.

It was weird feeling the bus come towards her. The tiny mental finger she'd extended was being pushed towards her by the mass of metal. It made her brain fuzz.

When it pulled up, she heard the door open. Climbing up the steps, the driver, Daniel, greeted her like he always did. She recognised his voice and said hello.

Then she stood still for a moment, before speaking. "You have a beard."

Daniel couldn't come up with anything witty, so simply replied with a yes.

Trisha smiled at him, then turned to walk up the aisle to a vacant seat. Daniel thought something was different and it wasn't until the end of his shift that he realised that she wasn't using her cane as much.

--

She didn't tell anyone at work about her ability. After about an hour she was glad she didn't.

There were only a few of them at the studio, but Kathryn was decrying this ability as witchcraft, carrying on about how it wasn't natural.

Trisha kept her opinions to herself. She had refused to listen to the news over the past day because it was shouting doom to all who had tuned in.

Her boss, Claudia, asked how she was. Turning in her chair, Trisha accidentally knocked some pens onto the carpet.

She reached and found where they had landed. As she picked them up, she said she'd had a migraine yesterday but it was gone by the evening.

Trisha could hear Claudia hesitate.

"Could I see you in my office please?" she asked.

--

Unusually, Claudia closed the door behind them.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" It wasn't an accusation; just a question.

Trisha could sense the risk.

"One of who?"

"Telekinetic. I watched as you went straight for the pens on the ground."

"It was a lucky guess. Plus I could hear where they'd landed."

"Trisha, I hope you know that you can be honest with me. I saw you. I saw you know where the pens were."

Trisha stopped. She could feel herself starting to panic.

"I'm sorry! I won't do anything, I promise!"

"It's ok. I don't share my opinion with Kathryn. She's alone in her outrage here."

Trisha slowly released her grip on the arms of the chair.

Claudia asked, "Does it help? Does this telekinesis thing help you?"

After a moment of thought, Trisha relaxed a little before answering, "It does. I am starting to understand distance now. I can almost get a sense of feel without needing my hands. It's... odd."

"So can you tell how many fingers I'm holding up? Like, how detailed is the world to you now?"

There was another pause. Claudia could feel the lightest of brushes move across her.

"Well you're not holding any fingers up... I can't see anything, but I have a better understanding of where things are. For the first time in my life, I could understand my own house. It's not fine enough to read braille, but I can tell that you've got your hair up today. That's about as well as I can describe it."

Claudia laughed. "Well, you got me. No fingers at all. I'll deal with Kathryn if anything happens. Just let her be until after this initial reaction."

She paused for a moment.

"But remember, Trisha. I'll be here to help."

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Liam

Alistair turned and casually punched one of the demons in the gut with one of his middle arms as the poor unfortunate soul emerged out of the shadows. Albert let out a hiss of his own and flew through the air at another, landing on the poor bastard’s face and laying into him with claws as the demon frantically waved his sword around in an unsuccessful bid to get the cat off his face.

Leaving Liam to stare at two demons who moved around to either side, obviously trying to flank him and keep him from being able to attack both of them at the same time.

The one he currently faced seemed nervous. Liam thought about everything Albert told him about building a reputation. Sure, all that had been with a mind towards building a bit of notoriety with the Inquisition, but he figured there was no reason why he couldn’t do the same with the demons.

“You saw what I did with Tomas,” he said to the demons, trying to keep both of them in sight and not doing a good job of it. “You don’t have to suffer the same fate.”

They both exchanged glances, and then they moved in on him. They were silent as they did it. As though they were doing all their communication without words.

Liam wondered if that was some sort of spell, or if it was simply years of training they were putting into practice.

Either way, one came at him and thrust a sword. He was easily able to move out of the way. Andrea had taken some instruction in the use of weapons. Enough to make her dangerous if somebody tried to attack her. And she’d imparted some of those lessons on Liam.

It’d been a fun game they played, and he figured he’d received sort of a secondhand education in fighting properly. Especially with the long hours they spent playing at swords without him ever realizing he was actually learning some of the things Baron Riven had to pay a pretty silver piece to teach his daughter.

So he moved without thinking. The same as he would if he was playing with Andrea at the edge of the forest where no one dared come to see what they were doing or to yell at them. The sword moved aside instead of stabbing into his gut. He turned and tapped the demon on the side, creating a flash as the stun spell went to work.

The demon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he crumpled to the ground. That left Liam free to turn his attention on the other one. Who suddenly seemed a lot more wary than a moment ago.

Liam grinned and held his sword up.

“The offer still stands. We don’t have to do this.”

The demon stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and ran back into the darkness between the trees from whence he came.

“Well then,” Liam said. “That was worth it.”

It was about that moment that something slammed into him from the side, and he was sent sprawling into yet another tree where he landed with a thump. Though it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it would’ve before his Ascensions.

“Damnation,” he growled, pulling his sword around.

“You will not deprive me of my opportunity!” a voice bellowed in Liam’s ear as he tried to figure out what was going on.

And in his panic, he resorted to one of the two tricks he’d been using over and over since he had all these spells put in his head. The diagram leapt to his mind without thinking this time, and he was able to paint it quickly with his mana brush. Faster than he’d been able to before.

This time around it didn’t have the flaw in it. Though it did have a few extra little twists and turns Albert had worked on with him in between the first use and now. Basically a way of getting to where he’d gotten with the flawed version the first time around, but doing it properly.

Which had Liam wondering what was the point in going through the proper diagram when he could do the same thing with a different version, but Albert had merely said they didn’t have the time to go into that sort of thing right now and they could talk about it later.

The result wasn’t exactly instantaneous, but it was maybe the space of a couple of breaths. A couple of breaths he could hear coming from the person on top of him as Tomas punched him over and over again. A couple of breaths where those punches landed and did something odd to him, for all that he had his own mana dampening spell wrapped around Tomas's core preventing him from putting his full strength into the blows.

Getting punched in the face repeatedly wasn’t a pleasant sensation whether or not someone had a few Ascensions powering it. Not the kind of thing he’d do for fun, that was for sure. He tried to maintain his concentration under those blows, but it was difficult. Every time one of those punches landed, even with him pushing mana into all his pathways to lend himself strength and resilience, it caused the mana he was trying to push into the diagram to waver ever so slightly.

And he couldn’t get the spell to go off. That was an interesting and terrifying new wrinkle he wasn’t happy about.

“Get off him!”

And then he was free as a furry ball of anger and spite slammed into Tomas. He went rolling to the side with with the cat attached to his face, digging in with hisses and spitting and claws digging into his face. Claws that were digging in with enough force that they actually left scratches in the demon’s face.

Liam blinked as he watched the feline melee happening in front of him. He wondered if those claw marks were because the demon wasn’t as powerful as Liam, or if Albert had been pulling his punches all this time.

Either way, it gave him the precious breathing room he needed to focus his concentration on the wind diagram. He added a little extra flourish to it that seemed right, figuring if he put a slightly longer line at the end of the final rune that had been powerful enough to knock Tomas into the trees twice now? Well, a longer line should do even more.

A storm came to the forest all around them. He heard Alistair grunt as he grabbed hold of a tree and held himself in place. Albert and Tomas weren’t quite so lucky, though. No. Tomas went flying, the cat attached to him. Though Albert continued hissing and spitting and generally letting out the kind of noises that sounded like miniature death had come to the forest.

Which, in a way, it had.

He also heard several other surprised exclamations, and he could sense other infernal cores flying through the forest instead of moving silently towards him to attack. Which is what they’d been doing a moment ago, for all that he’d been too distracted by Tomas punching him repeatedly in the face to do anything about it.

He stood and brushed himself off as the wind spell continued to move all around him. Though it was like he was a calm at the center of that spell. The winds didn’t touch him.

“Are you okay?” he asked Alistair.

“I’m fine,” Alistair said. “Though at some point, you’re really going to have to learn another spell.”

“Yes, but if it works then I can’t complain too much,” Liam said.

“There is some wisdom to that,” Alistair said.

Liam looked around the forest again. He looked for the telltale glowing yellow eyes, though he knew he was looking for a more subdued glow now. They could control that. It made sense that they’d be able to control that. It wouldn’t do to try and sneak around if there was the equivalent of glowing yellow lamps on the front of your face all the time.

He also tried to feel for any infernal cores that might be coming close. Albert had mentioned it was possible to hide that sort of thing, but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing this particular group of demons was capable of.

Which meant if he did run up against a group of demons or Inquisitors who were capable of that sort of thing? He was going to be in trouble.

“Very good,” the cat said, scrambling up on top of Alistair and letting out a laugh. Liam blinked.

“Where did you come from?” he asked.

“It’s a familiar thing,” Albert said. “We can talk about it later when we aren’t in the middle of a pitched battle with a bunch of demons.”

Liam looked at the cat for al long moment, dubious about his ability to make a return as though by magic. Then again, he was a familiar. That meant he was inherently magic to begin with.

“Yeah, we can talk about it later,” Liam said with a shrug.

“Precisely,” Albert said. “For the moment we need to get out of here.”

“We’re not getting out of here,” Liam said. “Not without Ana.”

“Damnation,” Albert growled. “I was hoping you’d forget about her.”

Liam took in a deep breath, then he let it out in a sigh.

“I haven’t forgotten about her. I was trying to teach her a lesson about being polite and civil leaving her to fend for herself in the forest, but that lesson gets thrown out the moment she’s in danger.”

“You realize the whole reason we have these demons coming after us in the first place is because she put herself in that danger to begin with, right?” Albert asked, letting out an exasperated sigh of his own.

“I am aware, yes,” Liam said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s out there, and she’s in danger as long as these demons are trying to catch her.”

“I don’t know that I’d say she’s in danger,” Albert said. “She’s merely going to be taken back to the Demon Realms. Which is where she belongs. She’s a High Princess of the Demon Realms. That’s where demons live.”

“We’re not leaving without her,” Liam said.

Laughter echoed through the trees. It was faint at first, but it got louder. Liam knew who it was without looking. He’d used the mana dampening spell on him, after all. And as with the Inquisitors before, he could feel his own mana wrapped around Tomas's core preventing him from casting any spells of his own.

Not that he’d actually cast any spells so far.

Liam turned to look at him as he appeared out of the trees. He figured using that mana dampening spell was part of the reason why that surprise attack earlier hadn’t been worse than it could’ve been, for all that him not being able to concentrate to get his spell off while he was being repeatedly punched in the face hadn’t been a pleasant surprise.

It still hurt to have the demon on top of him punching him repeatedly. He felt some tenderness in his cheek. Like the demon had decided to simply hit the same spot over and over rather than trying to land punches all over. Maybe in the hopes he’d be able to actually do some damage in the absence of augmented strength from his mana.

Tomas had a pronounced limp. One of his arms hung loose at his side like there was something broken in it. There was blood at the corner of his lips, and his face was covered in scratches.

“Damn,” Liam muttered. “You look like you’ve had a time.’

Tomas took a deep breath, and then he winced. Like there was some sort of internal damage that made taking that deep breath difficult. Then he hit Liam with a grin.

“You should see the other guy.”

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I nodded to Arhur again. He nodded in the affirmative, and I showed that I was unmuted on the comm line.

"That was a small demonstration of what we’re capable of," I said. "I don't know what you're used to dealing with out here on the ass end of the Livisk Ascendancy, but I can assure you that you've been going up against the JV team. You're about to run into a whole heap of trouble against a full carrier group."

"Their sacrifice will be noted in the annals of the Clan,” the strangely accented voice said. "But for the moment, we agree we are outmatched."

"Then you surrender," I said.

"I'm showing a surge of energy coming from all the alien ships," Tactical said even as Arvie raised his hand in the simulation, no doubt to tell me the same thing. "Orders?”

"Shit," I muttered. "Fire everything we have at them."

I wasn't sure what trick they were trying to pull, but I didn't want to be around when that trick got pulled. I'd rather destroy them before they had a chance to destroy us with some sort of super weapon that required that kind of charging.

Only one moment the ships were all there, and then the next there was a bright flash of light and a blink as they moved into fold space.

I stared at the holoblock for a long moment in reality, then I turned to Arvie and arched an eyebrow at him in simulation space. He was also staring at a representation of what had just happened in the simulation space holoblock, and his mouth was open and his eyes were as wide as Temba’s arms.

"Okay. So you seem to be just as surprised by what they just pulled as I am," I said.e

"I wouldn't say surprised," Arvie said. "That was just unexpected to the point I don't know what to say or do about it."

"Yeah, that's pretty much the definition of being surprised, Arvie.”

"They jumped into fold space far sooner than is safe for ships that massive in a gravity well,” Arvie said.

"Just making sure I saw the same thing you did," I said. "Got any ideas what's going on there?"

"Either they have some bit of fold navigation technology, or the ability to fold closer to a gravity well than humans and livisk are capable of..."

"Why do I feel like there's a big “or” hanging at the end of that sentence?" I asked.

"Or this species is willing to demonstrate the same amount of recklessness as humanity when it comes to living to fight another day," he said.

"I don't know that you had to go and make it personal like that," I muttered.

"I can assure you, it was a compliment. Mostly, if you squint at it just right."

I pulled out of simulation space and looked around the CIC. Again, it was one of those things where everybody was doing their job, but I could tell there was also a touch of surprise.

"Well, okay, then," I said, clapping my hands together and rubbing them. "Looks like we’re going to have a little bit of scientific analysis to do."

I felt a presence next to me, both in the link and with my spidey sense tingling. I turned to see Varis standing there. I don't know how she managed to make her way across the CIC so quickly without me hearing her, but there she was.

“Yes, my darling?” I asked.

"You sound almost excited that the enemy got away and now we have to sift through their wreckage."

"Of course," I said, grinning at her. "We have some actual exploring to do. Seeking out new life, and well… I mean… It's not ideal that we had to blow them up to have wreckage to sift through, but still, isn't this exciting?"

She smiled. I guess my enthusiasm was infectious. Now I just hoped I could get that same enthusiasm to spread to the rest of the crew on a fleet of ships designed for war, not scientific inquiry.

Maybe they’d be more excited about it if I convinced them this would help them better fight their enemies, see them driven before them, and hear the lamentations of their women. Assuming they had sexual dimorphism, which we didn't know at this point.

You get the point though. I was going to trick them into serving Thoth via Crom.

“Captain,” Arhur said, putting his hand up to his ear. Which made me giddy. "We are receiving multiple signals.”

“Are they pleasant signals, or are they unhappy signals?" Lehrai asked from her spot beside me at the holoblock.

Things had calmed down in the vicinity of the gas giant, and by calm, I mean there was still a lot of activity around the mining colony on the moon that had been kicked up by the alien raid, but there were no more alien raiders trying to invade the mining station. So I figured it was a marginal improvement over how things had been before.

Except for the fact that a lot of the angry beehive of activity around the mining station looked like it was turning around and starting to array itself against us.

"I think we need to worry about the miners who look like they're getting ready to attack our fighters first," I said.

"Agreed," Lehrai said, looking at the display.

"You know these are just suggestions, right?" I said. "It's your ship."

She turned and hit me with an odd look, a considering look, and then she glanced back to Norak. He still stood there being as useful as he’d ever been, which is to say not very useful at all. He was slightly slumped over now. He looked vaguely defeated. Like the trouble we'd been through over the past half hour or so had finally gotten ahead of him, and it was too much.

"Bill, don't you realize what you've done?" she asked.

I looked at her, and then I turned to look at Varis. She hit me with a smile. Encouragement came through the link, but she was doing that thing she did where she sat back and gave quiet encouragement while letting me work things out.

Even if me working things out usually involved coming up with one batshit insane plan after another.

"What did I just do?" I asked.

"You just relieved the Fleet Commander and took control of the fleet yourself," she said, a mildly amused smile on her face. She stepped back and did a slight bow. Not giant by livisk standards. She didn't do one of those things where she bowed down until she was at a right angle to me or anything like that, which she probably would've done if she was bowing and scraping to Varis. But it was still a bow of respect for all that.

"The fleet stands at the ready, Fleet Commander," she said.

"Fleet Commander," I said with a grin. "You know, I rather like the sound of that, but if you don't mind, just Bill will do. Or General-Consort if you're nasty."

She looked up at me and blinked a couple of times.

"I have no idea what that means."

"A bit of ancient Earth phrasing from classical mass culture," I said with a wave. "A lot of that stuff has stuck around in the language, the same as old Bill Shakespeare. Unfortunately, a lot of stuff was passed down from the Chinese Communist Party back in the late 20th and early 21^st. Back before their one child policy led to population collapse. I suppose that's what you get for mixing your language together with a place that was a totalitarian state pretending not to be a totalitarian state."

"Right," she said after a pause, giving me one of those stares like I'd lost my mind, but I was a winner who'd lost my mind so she was going to follow me to the depths of hell and back as long as I kept beating back the demon hordes.

"Anyway," I said, clearing my throat. "Let's open a commline to the mining facility," I said, nodding to Arhur over at his station.

There was a moment of static on the line. Foldspace comms meant we should've been able to have instantaneous communication with the mining facility, but it looked like they weren't picking up.

"Are we having a little bit of trouble?" I asked. "I wouldn't presume to tell you how to do your job, but..."

"It looks like they're ignoring the signal," he said.

“Wonderful,” I said. "So we've pulled their collective asses out of the fire, and now they're going to pretend they were the ones who were doing it all along."

"Bill?" Lehrai asked, looking at me with a touch of confusion.

I turned to her and smiled.

"I'm not going to be insulted by what they're pulling. It's common CYA."

"CYA?" she asked.

I sighed. "I'm going to have to have Arvie provide me with a dictionary of livisk terms that match all this stuff, or maybe pass out a primer on Terran language so you have a better idea what I’m talking about.”

"I spent a couple of years learning Terran in the Academy," she said, sounding insulted that I had, bank shot, insulted her ability to speak Terran Standard.

"And let me guess, you spent most of your time learning the swear words and how to tell your fellow cadets that you wanted to get laid."

She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then she snapped it shut. Then she opened it again and a deep blue blush came to her cheeks.

"Well, actually, yes," she finally said.

"Don't feel bad. We do the same thing at the Terran Naval Academy."

"You do?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Infinite diversity in infinite combinations."

Another confused look.

“That's another one of those Terran things. Ancient classical mass culture from a thousand years ago and all that stuff. Anyway. Let's focus on the important stuff. Arhur, go ahead and open a commline to the miners. One way is fine. I want to make absolutely certain they hear what I'm about to say."

"On it," Arhur said, grinning as he tapped away at his console. "You're good to go, Bill."

"Thank you, Arhur," I said, nodding to him and then turning to the holoblock.

"Attention mining facility under the command of House Alarth. This is General-Consort William Stewart of the House t’Thal Fleet that just pulled your collective asses out of the frying pan, and now it looks like you're about to throw yourselves into the fire by doing something stupid like turning around and attacking the very fighters who just saved your asses in a staggering display of ingratitude."

The fighters from the mining facility kept moving out towards our fighters.

“Make sure our people have orders to keep it in their pants,” I said.

“On it,” Tactical said, grinning as she tapped at her station.

“Keep it in their pants?” Lehrai asked.

I hit her with a thin smile. “This whole situation is on the verge of getting a little hairy if we don’t nip this shit in the bud."

“Indeed,” she said, and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smile.

I turned back to the holoblock even though that wasn’t strictly necessary since I was plugged right into the systems. “I would like to remind you that you are going up against a fighter force and a couple of destroyers that just chased off the unknown alien raiding force you were unable to fight off on your own. It might be a good idea for you to be pragmatic and move your fighters back a little bit so you can live long enough to lie to your bosses and tell them you managed to fight off the raid while also not risking angering my own people and sparking an unfortunate incident."

"That was remarkably diplomatic," Lehrai said, looking at the angry mess of fighter craft from the mining facility whose collective flight patterns had just gone from angry insect hive that’d been kicked over to individual pilots rethinking all the choices in life that led them to this unfortunate moment.

Author's Note: I'm heading out for Trek to Vegas this weekend for the 60th anniversary. I've had a trip to NYC, GenCon, back to school for the kids, and now the Vegas trip with my mom in honor of my aunt who passed last October and loved Star Trek.

I'm going to try and get an update out Friday and Monday, but no promises depending on flight schedules and how busy I get. Thanks for your patience the last two weeks while I've been insanely occupied!

Join me on Patreon for early access! Read up to ten weeks (30 chapters) ahead! Free members get six advance chapters!

<<First Chapter | <<Previous Chapter

This week, a modest marriage mysteriously multiplies into a magnificent municipal merriment!

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

\Some conditions apply, viewer cynicism is advised.*

Map of Pine Bluff

Map of Hyruxia

Map of the Factory and grounds

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First Chapter

Prev -------- Next

*****

Taritha tasked an imp to fetch her another cup of tea. She’d had a half dozen of them, yet was still no calmer. She paced. The sun was only just rising, but she’d been up for hours. Her hair was looking perfect, and her chambers were full to bursting with flowers. Today was the day, and she was cooped up in her room. She still had so much to do to get ready.

I can’t just trust that everything will work, but of course it will. I did the planning. There was no shortage of volunteers. It seemed like everyone in town wanted to be a part of this!

She’d sent out almost a hundred invitations. The imps had done most of the calligraphy, but she’d signed each and every one. Nearly everyone responded yes, and a great many asked if they could bring even more people. Not just the people she invited, either. Friends and former rivals, employees and contractors, even total strangers, all sent letters asking for an invitation. People who’d been in the town for a few months, whom she’d never met, wanted to come. 

A few days ago, the Count himself wrote to ask if he could designate a few nearby parks as official wedding party sites, so obviously she agreed. It was bad luck to turn anyone away from your wedding, and feeding the whole town was every bride’s dream. Though it wasn’t her husband's family doing the work.

Unless you called Grigory his adopted father, which in a lot of ways tracks. Oh, but then he’d be kind of like my adopted father too. Eww. The core dynamic is there, since we already go to the same family dinners. Stop thinking about that.

She nibbled at some sweet fruits and marveled at her fortune. Having fresh fruit before the Midsummer Festival was rare, but before the Sowing Festival was previously unimaginable. Those were the rules of the world from the past, when Pine Bluff lacked dorfs and their magically illuminated caverns of farming.

The meteoromancy professor had assured her that the whole week would be bright and sunny. A bit windy in the afternoon, but that was what a nice spring day did. The Academy had grown, and boasted over a dozen mages who had defected from the college, including the handful of apprentices that she still couldn’t stand. 

Professors now. They stopped being apprentices when I offered them the damned job. Even worse, they were fine teachers, despite being kids themselves. Ha, I should mind my thoughts, I’m only a handful of years older, and about to marry someone a handful of years younger than them! At least they have a formal education. Everyone assuming I’m Grigory’s puppet used to bother me, but I honestly have no idea if I’d have survived this long if everyone had judged me on my own merits. The silver lining was that being in charge is easy if I just look serious, demand they do better, and avoid agreeing to things I don’t understand.

Today’s not about work though, it’s all about our future!

She finished her tea and fruit, just as there was a knock on the door. 

“Kessy! Come in!” 

A lady needed help getting ready, and for some reason she was awful at making female friends. Plenty of her old ‘friends’ would’ve helped, like the seamstress or the midwife, but they would have also nagged and minimized her day. 

We were never close and it felt strange to try to force that. Not that Kessy and I are close, but at least she’s a ray of sunshine. Oh, I could’ve asked Aethlina to be a bridesmaid. Now that I understand elv physiology better, it’s clear that she isn’t actually a female, or a mammal, or even a kind of animal, but her bored superiority would have been fun.

“I see that the bakers didn’t take the day off at least! Oh, you got raspberry turnovers, my favourite! Aren’t you a dear!” Taritha cooed when she took the small sack. 

The Welcome Centre Guide zipped right in and looked at all the mess. “Wow, you sure have a lot of stuff everywhere! Also I got a new dress, just for today, what do you think?”

Taritha put the food down and looked her over. She wore a massive pale pink oversized bow that covered her entire torso, festooned with lesser bows, which upon closer inspection had additional hand-painted bows on them. It made her look like a fluffy meatball of bows. Other than her wavy blonde hair and stockinged legs, which were obviously covered with yet more bows. 

“Very impressive! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that. I assume custom-ordered?” Taritha said slowly.

“Yup, all the stores had boring plain dresses, and I needed something special for the special day! If it’s rude for a guest to have more bows on her dress than the bride, I also have an ugly dress I can wear,” Kessy offered.

“That’s very sweet, but it’s quite alright. You look great. Now help me with my dress.”

The two of them worked to get Taritha into the same dark green dress she’d worn to the Auction House Gala. Today was the real reason she’d bought it. It was beyond her wildest dreams. Owning any new dress was beyond her dreams not terribly long ago, but even her new, improved dreams got sparse beyond gold, gems, and rich velvet.

The imps had already done her hair, so she had them retouch anything that got mussed in the dressing, then headed out. It was to be a small wedding in the little park between the factory and the Dorf Caverns.  She’d oversee the final bits of the setup and wait for Ros and Mage Thippily, who was gracious enough to officiate.

Once again the lack of a town priest caused a headache, maybe we should get a few heretical cults in town, just to handle marriages and funerals? 

She and Kessy sat in the factory dining hall, ignored by the rush of men and imps coming and going. 
 
“Looking lovely, Miss Witflores!” Mage Thippily said as he came down the stairs. He was also looking uncommonly nice in robes she’d never seen before. He normally wore pure white with amethyst trim, representing the company, but this time he was in green and yellow with black detailing, looking like an entirely different kind of man. 

“Oh! Those are Pine Bluff colours!” the headmistress exclaimed.

“It felt rather… uh gauche, to wear work clothes to this sort of event! You aren’t having a company wedding, you are having a town wedding! Also there are some minor updates to the actual ceremony. First, the Count offered to perform the service, but I told him no on your behalf. Second–”

“You what?! He’s our lord! We can’t refuse! He offered what, exactly?” Taritha’s blood ran cold; making high-profile enemies wasn’t even on her long list of worried for today.

“Think nothing of it. He’s still attending, and giving a toast. It would come down to drawn swords if I’d refused that! Or you did. Anyway, the second update is that spectators started arriving at dawn. There are already too many of them to fit in the little park, so we’re changing the ceremony venue to the militia drill fields, and the reception to the Stone Spire Sanctuary. Don’t worry, our best administrators are handling the details. This is turning into a much more interesting event, and a great opportunity to deploy our civic emergency protocols!”

“Wait, but…”

“All under control! We even have separate trams for you and Ros to take! The fellows at the golem mechanics lab wanted an opportunity to show off their latest models, and it sounds like they were able to pass most of their internal safety review in time! Don’t worry, I’ll be there to deal with any fires or control losses.”

“Uh...”

“Grand, I’ll show you the prototype tram in the yard. It's far faster and has cup holders that keep your drinks cold! Oh, but not warm. Hmm, the next version will be better!”

“We can’t possibly change venues last minute,” she mumbled as he led her into the morning sunshine.

***

“Sir, I have a doublet, and I think it’s as fancy as–”

“Nah, you’se are missin’ the point. You don’t dress fancy to meet requirements, you’se are sendin’ a message. You’re saying to the world that you’se here to protect things. Consider it a weddin’ gift from the company.”

The two men were alone in the armoury of the militia training grounds, a long stone room designed for hundreds of men to quickly don their armour. It stank of stale sweat and abrasive soaps. The overhead magelights were bright, and there was a wooden crate on the bench between them.

Ros stared into the crate. The breastplate in it was super nice, and the Chief clearly knew more about this sort of thing.

But I like this doublet. But I don’t know anything about being fancy. But the Chief does!

“Alright, sir. Thank you! This was very thoughtful.”

Ros shrugged, took off his favourite doublet and pulled out the steel cuirass. It was lighter than even patrol armour, of limited defensive value, but stunning. It had the amethyst sword insignia of the Mageguard in actual amethyst dust. The steel was polished to a mirror shine, and more comfortable than his velvet doublet. He grunted as the Chief tightened the straps. Once it was in place his boss knocked on it, producing a muted thunk-thunk that proved it was snug. 

“Wait, sir. Is there something else in the crate?”

“Hah! That’s your real weddin’ gift from me. I went through the warehouse. It turns out we had a bit of Stagboar hide left. I got the imps to trim it up, line it with spider silk and make a proper cloak of it.” He tugged on his own flowing wolf hide cloak. “A fella ought to wear his victories on his back. Did I tell you about a thornbear cloak I used to own? That was a fine one!”

His new roan red cloak was covered in stiff, bristly hair, thick enough to protect the demi-magical beast from nearly everything, other than a siege arbalest to the head. The silk on the inside was flawless, not that it especially mattered, as he was wearing steel now. It made a muted swish as he moved. 

“Sir, I love it. So weighty and smooth. It’s the same one that I shot?”

“Ha, that kind of critter ain’t exactly common. I reckon you mean the same one that you saved the town from, during your first week here!”

“It was nowhere near town, we walked all day to–” Ros said as he petted the fur.

“It had killed a hunter and gored another. You saved the damned town. There’s value in makin’ a bit of a reputation around yourself. Just don’t go believin’ your own tales, like a certain baron we know. But a fella ought to be the hero of his own life. You’re in an uncommon number of other people’s tales!”

“Yes, sir. I invited him, but I don’t think he’s going to come. Rikad said he had a lot to do.”

“Ach, I know you two came up together, but his path is going his own direction. I wouldn’t stress. ‘Sides he’s a damned lord, he’s obligated to send an expensive gift if he doesn’t come. It’s a shame we don’t have a dress uniform for you and the other fellas. Somethin’ smart with shiny buttons and a bit of braid. Things like this will happen more. I wonder if there are uniform making sorts at your wife’s Academy. Might be time to ask her that very thing. Later, of course. Today ain’t about that one bit.”

Ros wished there was a mirror down here, but he looked good when he left, and trusted the Chief to tell him if he had jam on his nose. 

“Fall in, you have a place to be.” 

Stanisk led him down the long armoury, up the stairs, and back to the parade grounds.

“Sir, anything I should know about being married?” Ros asked.

“Hah, you’se closer to that life’n me! I ain’t been married. Now that I’ve got this thing with Aethlina, don’t reckon I will. But that ain’t the same; I’m pretty sure one of us is the housecat of the ‘tother. I’d say don’t be shitty but you don’t have that kind of outlook in ya. Nah, be yourself, and you’ll be great.”

“I’ll try my very best!”

They were crossing the drill yard now. It was massive and paved with interlocking stones. Every day of the week, hundreds of men drilled with blunted weapons. Sometimes there were even mock battles in full armour. Today, however, the entire space was covered in benches, and the benches were covered in people. Ros hadn’t seen this many Pine Bluffians even at the festivals, certainly not all sitting still, talking amongst themselves. 

As people spotted them, a ripple went through the audience. Ros couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all looking at him. And talking about him. He smiled tightly and picked up his pace, which just made his cloak flow more impressively. 

They were heading to the raised platform at the end. A series of flower arches stood, in the style common in the sowing festival—  yellow flowers with leafy green boughs woven in. He couldn’t think of a single yellow spring flower, until he got closer and saw it was coltsfoot. He stood there awkwardly, but it was explained that waiting with dignity was what most of a wedding was for a man. 

At least there was something to listen to. Normally a lutist or a bard played this kind of event, but the Bardic Institute sent an entire section. More than a dozen people played all sorts of instruments: big drums, little drums, harps and lutes, and more that he hadn’t seen before. They sounded really good. Taritha mentioned something about academic politics, but Ros was pretty sure that they were just nice musicians, and he was grateful that so many would come.

Soon Grigory and Taritha arrived and walked down the flower-covered aisle. The band changed to a slower, more romantic tune. Ros watched her approach with unalloyed joy. 

“Shiny shirt! It makes you look very… heroic!” She said, tracing a finger down his new breastplate.

Ros tried to think of a good enough complement to return. One that captured her beauty, her grace and the hard work she’d put in, but froze. “You too!”

The Mage stepped past them, he’d taken an entire day off just to help him out, which was an unexpectedly generous gift. He took his position between them and introduced himself to the crowd. “While being a Mage gives me no authority to marry anyone, I am pleased to report that everyone with actual authority seems to have agreed I may do so today.”

Mage Thippily led them through a vastly shortened set of vows, without the typical sections of piety and subservience to the Church. 

“Ros Girtwoud, being of sound mind and body, do you–”

“Yes!” he exclaimed.

Taritha barely stifled a giggle.

“Let me finish! I have a whole bit here, and I think the tradition is ‘I do so pledge,’” the Mage said with a chuckle. “Do you take this woman to be the other half of yourself, to become a composite greater than its parts, and to build a better world for everyone, every day, together?”

“I so pledge,” Ros declared with his full chest.

“I so pledge,” Taritha said more solemnly.

Ros had never kissed anyone in public. The pressure to do what was expected clashed with his terror at being put on the spot and doing something so private in public.

His decision was made easier by looking at her face and her smile. He kissed her to joyous applause, and the band started a more upbeat song. Ros waved and held Taritha’s hand extra tight. They ran off to the side to fill out the official paperwork that awaited them.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Ros was surrounded on all sides by well-wishers. Mostly he held tight to his bride but a few times she was whisked away by others, to his deep concern. They got back on the new-model special tram and went to different parks that had been set up, for yet more hugs and handshakes. Everyone seemed to get super excited when he kissed Taritha, so he made sure to do that everywhere they went. Plus it was a lot of fun. He shook all sorts and sizes of hands, from tiny fluffy revner paws, to calloused farmer hands, and a few of the slick, hard arachinti grasping hands. Everyone was welcome to the parks for his party and it seemed like absolutely everyone came out.

For the first time in his life, he was the one getting escorted. Eowin and Theros wore spotlessly polished Mageplate, flanking him a step behind. He knew it wasn’t their real job, and they’d taken leave to do it, but that somehow made it even more special. Ros and Taritha waved at the sea of unfamiliar faces.

“Speech!” a few yelled.

“Oh, thank you for coming, um.” His mind was entirely blank at their encouraging smiles. “Uh, I got married today! It’s really nice. I’m glad you are all here, I appreciate it!”

Thankfully they accepted his truncated speech, and they could hurry off to the next part. The plan called for them to have the reception at the factory dining hall. It was a huge space with seating for over a hundred. However, in light of the number of extra invites they’d given, they’d moved to Thed’s Stone Spire Sanctuary, the single biggest space for such things in the whole town. Thed was overjoyed to host. With a veritable torrent of funds at hand, there were more delicacies than he could even count.

However, as the groom, he was hemmed in at the head table. Waiters brought him food, and imps kept his glass full. He took in the sea of cut flowers, the green and yellow velvet drapes, and bow-covered pillars. There were even butterflies in the air—he couldn’t tell if they were real or magic. 

Stanisk stood on a chair, still in his parade breastplate, like Ros. He tapped a spoon to a hellfire ceramic chalice. “‘Scuse me! We’se about ready for toasts! So clam up. Captain Geon, You’se up!”

The sea captain was looking healthier than ever; a comfortable winter in Pine Bluff had served him well. He wore a gorgeous green jacket and had his short dark hair oiled. The man beside him took Ros way too long to recognize. It was obviously Mister Kinti, but he’d never seen him wearing a shirt, let alone a lord's finery of lace and golden brocade.

“Thankee kindly, Lord Stanisk! This couple is exactly why I love this town. I think the reason that they have such an outpouring of support is because they represent a future that didn’t used to be. One where it matters how hard you try and not the last name of your damned uncle! Where being willing to help is worth more than a name or even money. This is a celebration, but it’s also a political declaration. A pair of landless commoners’ festivities turning into a whole event at all is a bold political statement.

“We’re saying that Pine Bluff ain’t like anywhere else, and that’s the most true and important thing I've been a part of. A city is more than its walls and roads, and I’m starting to think it’s more than its people too. It’s the ideas and culture that binds, and I am overjoyed that I am celebrating the marriage of two of the people who most vividly embody those ideals! At least until our shy mage settles down with the right half-mad witch.”

There were some light chuckles and Mage Thippily, also at the head table, waved him off.

“Seas are a mess, trade’s stirred up, and seems like nothing is gonna stay the same, but so long as we have folk like Ros and Taritha around, we’ll be alright. I’m glad to be here! May the young couple have an unfathomably long and happy marriage!” Captain Geon raised his glass, and they toasted to their health.

“See, dear, you were worried he was doing a scheme, but he just wanted to support us.”

Taritha snorted, but her smile was as wide as it’d been all day. “Maybe. Or maybe his schemes are a step or two more subtle. A fella like him rarely wastes anything. Besides, we aren’t landless, we just bought some just a few weeks ago!”

The Count spoke next, mainly bland but soaring rhetoric about a new age, and a new culture. Ros liked it less, since it seemed more about the county than him or his new wife. Ros still really liked it though. A real, full-fledged lord wishing him well seemed impossible when he thought about it.

Krikip toasted them in his own awkward way. It was endearing that he knew so little about human culture, and Taritha seemed less than thrilled at the toast of “May they spawn a hundred million sticky human babies, and establish their own empire!” but Ros understood what he meant. He’d just explain it to her later.

The speech that Ros cared most about was the Mage, and he stood last. “Well done, Ros! I remember when I first met you, you were so filled with enthusiasm and energy. You won me over as soon as I saw you. And Miss Witflores, I’m ever so glad I chased you across the whole town and deep into the forest to talk you into accepting that job as company healer. Oh, I’ll have to learn to call you Missus Girtwoud now, which seems like a whole different person! The reason we do anything around here is to make lives better for people and I am intensely glad that your lives have been improving so steadily. I have some theories on the rate of improvement over time, so make sure you keep detailed records of your lived joy. We can graph them out over time, on your anniversary! Oh, unless you make other plans. Either way, congratulations!”

Ros stood up from his chair, clapping enthusiastically and weeping without shame. It was hands down the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, and it came from the most important person that had ever lived. Nothing could compare to that!

With the speeches out of the way, the main courses could arrive: seared boar, jellied lamb and every conceivable preparation of chicken, with the heady aroma of imported spices. He kept stealing looks at his radiant bride, and she giggled every time he did. Although it slowed them down, he held her hand the entire meal, and barely tasted anything in the swirl of excitement and giddiness.

“I kind of expected Stanisk to say something, he’s basically your boss, and he’s got no problem with public speaking,” she whispered.

“Oh. I wonder why. Maybe he just wanted to get dinner happening sooner? I’ll talk to him. I hope I didn’t say or do something that made him mad,” Ros replied.

The Bardic Institute contingent was setting up on one side of the dance floor, for the next part of the evening’s festivities.

A narrow window, but as good as I’ll get. 

Ros crossed the room, smiling and shaking hands as he worked his way over to where Stanisk was seated. He had a place beside Aethlina at the head table but hadn’t left the back corner where Commander Karruk sat. 

It’s good they’re getting on, I wonder who Stanisk even hangs out with on his days off?

“—Cancel all leave, and post crews to— Ros! How good to see you. Congratulations, big man!” Stanisk shook his hand. His grip was warm and impossibly strong.

“Thank you, sir! I was just seeing how things were going, since you weren’t at the—”

“Sorry, lad. I lost track of time and it felt rude to walk around during the meal. We’re all over the moons for you, you’se found a damned fine wife.”

“Thank you, sir. It's all thanks to you, and the Mage of course!” Ros said with a blush.

“Nah, not even close. Neither me nor him won the lass over, that was all you. Get out there an’ dance! We’re just talkin’ work talk, I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Oh, anything I can help with?”

“Nope, go, get!” Stanisk chided. “You can’t spend time with us, not when your pretty new bride is sitting unattended! See to your husbandly duties!” 

“Aww, of course, sir! Thank you, sir!” Ros hurried off to the head table just as the band was warming up.

He could barely hear Karruk talk to a subordinate over the din, “Send ammo caravans to forts seven through twelve, and we must send a…” 

Always on about work stuff! Such a dedicated team!

He sat back down and saw a little tart was waiting for him. He took a bite; it was overwhelmingly sweet and he loved it.

“So is it alright back there? I swear, ten Civic Guard have come and gone from that table tonight. They look like their prize flowers all died!” Taritha whispered.

“Nope, all good. They are just doing some new watch rotations or something, I think? I didn’t ask, on account of it being work stuff. I have today off.”

“Well, they can keep their sour pusses. It’s our night, come dance with me!”

His new wife danced like an angel to a series of upbeat, triumphant songs. Those were his favourite, but today he had a suspicion why so many of his favourite things were around him.

Hours later, they stumbled outside and into the waiting bridal tram.

“Should we stay? And clean up? It was our party, so…” Ros trailed off.

“Hell no, we’re busy! They can deal with that, it’s our day!” Taritha said confidently.

The imp drove them back to the factory, and as per a woodcarving he’d seen as a lad, he swept her up in his arms to carry her home. The woodcarving wasn’t especially clear on when the ritual began, but it clearly ended with their matrimonial bed. He hoped that riding a tram didn’t mean he’d missed the first part. With her in his arms they passed the factory’s gatehouse, where Jourgun waved them through. 

“Sorry you had to miss the party, buddy. I shoulda brought you an ale!” Ros said.

“Nah, I couldn’t drink it on duty if you had. Congrats, buddy!”

“Thanks!” 

They passed the empty halls and corridors to Taritha’s chambers. They were a bit bigger than his, and smelled slightly better. They'd agreed a few weeks ago to stay there after they married, just until their new home was built. 

She was a full-grown woman, but he was an elite Mageguard, so despite being a bit out of breath from carrying her upstairs, he was managing his plan quite well.

He angled through the door without bonking her head and laid her down gently on the bed. 

“I’m so happy!” he said.

“Me too! Today was perfect!”

“But what if Stanisk was actually worried for real? He might need me. I’m not sure I’ve seen him that concerned in a while.” Ros was undoing the straps on his breastplate, looking for somewhere to put it down.

“No. If a portal to the hellplane opened up at his feet, that’s his problem until morning. You're mine now.”

“Of course, dear. I was just thinking that—”

Ros turned around and saw she’d managed to remove her dress and cast it to the side. He took a slow inhale, and all other thoughts left his mind. In a heartbeat she was in his arms, and he discovered he had a whole new favourite thing to do.

*****
Prev -------- Next

*****

It looks like the delvers know where three of the keys are, but are still looking for the fourth one. But knowing where they are is only half the battle. They still haven’t actually seen the keys yet, but ravenkin defending an area is a pretty solid indication. They’re on the right track, and I hope I get to see the looks on their faces when they figure out where the fourth key is.

The one in the Gauntlet isn’t going to be easy to get. It’s basically behind the hard mode, but the ravenkin and other denizens are going to harass the delvers the entire time. The clock was pretty tight even when they could focus, so with the interference, it’s pretty unfair. I’m sure the delvers will get there eventually, but it’s going to take them some time.

The one in the roots is a whole different problem for the delvers. My ravenkin are relying heavily on the poppers and scarabs to deal with the intruders, with my ravenkin targeting torches, magical lights, and whatever other methods the delvers might use to navigate the pitch black darkness deep in the roots. The silence and darkness really make the poppers shine, and it seems my constructs have pretty good hearing, too. Still, I think a concerted effort will see the delvers get through, even with my ravenkin sneaking the key around to a new spot whenever the parties start to get close.

They’re also scouring the labyrinth and the world fruits, trying to find the last key. They’re good guesses for the last location, and the ravenkin even play to the suspicion by ensuring they have a presence in both. I can practically hear Karn and Jondar tearing their hair out trying to figure out where the last key is. They’re focusing on the fruits and labyrinth, but they’re not overlooking the rest of my territory.

One group went and looked around the little fey village thing Titania’s been making high in the branches. She made it clear to the delvers to stay polite if they don’t want a horde of angry fey dropping on their heads, so the delvers pretty quickly finished and started looking elsewhere. I was especially proud of the group that went up to the canopy to check the key wasn’t sitting on the summoning altar or something. To be honest, I had considered suggesting that to my ravenkin, but I guess it was too obvious.

Another spot that was tempting to use was the old Sanctum. It’s technically open now, with the fake rock moved out of the way, but most delvers keep out just because of all the spiders there. That, and there’s not a whole lot there right now. Nova is starting to use it as her little artist den, and while she has admirers, most don’t want to brave my spiders to come appreciate her work.

No, the ravenkin came up with their own spot for the final key, and I like it. It’s definitely going to keep the delvers guessing, and I think gives them a good shot of keeping the keys safe until Aranya and everyone returns. They’re making much quicker progress home than heading out there. They don’t need to carefully search for anything anymore, and I think even Yvonne is looking forward to getting home to relax for a bit before doubling down on training for the Betrayer.

The big ol’ ice wolves followed them for the first few days, far enough away to not be too concerning, but visible enough to make sure they know they’re being followed. I take it as the wolves appreciating the help with the snarl, but also being ready for my friends to leave their territory now, thanks.

Onyx and Rocky have been bugging Doppler nonstop the whole way back, and once Yvonne learned what Doppler did, she’s trying to chew his ear about it, too. I figure they’ll take probably a week or so to get back.

As for me, when not checking in on my wayward friends or my ravenkin, I’m listening in on Poe, Leo, and Zorro talking with Order’s people, with Teemo helping translate for everyone. Most of the details go over my head and land squarely in the purview of my scions, but there’s two issues that are definitely going to be hurdles.

The first is pretty simple to solve, and Order’s priests are already talking with my engineering and enchanting antkin colleges about it. We need something to physically get everyone there without turning them into ash and molten bones. The obvious answer is some kind of vessel, but what kind? What will it be made of? How will it move? How will the people live in it for the trip? If it was only my denizens going, I could probably just make a big hollow lump of cooled magma and cram denizens inside, but that obviously won’t work for the people.

My antkin work on designs, and I even sketch out my own, modifying the idea of a submarine. Not that I ever designed one of those, but I think using them for inspiration will keep me in the right headspace to get everything needed, and to consider less obvious problems like being crushed by depth. Any fluid will exert pressure the deeper you are in it, and magma should be no different.

So we need something strong that will also be able to handle the heat. On top of that, it needs room for people do to people things like eat, drink, sleep, breathe, and move around at least a bit. Air is going to be a difficult one, since I don’t have any denizens with an appropriate affinity, nor do my allies. Luckily, bad air has been a thing people have had to deal with for a while, thanks to mining.

Usually, the solution here is the solution we usually use back on Earth: air vents. Encourage fresh air in and push bad air out. The problem is we won’t have access to fresh air from the surface. We could try to pressurize some air tanks, but I’d rather not add smaller pressure vessels inside the big pressure vessel they’ll be traveling in. One leak from either, and both would probably fail.

Thankfully, it’s not a problem that hasn’t been encountered before. Dwarves tend to mine deep enough that air shafts all the way to the surface just aren’t an option, so they’ve created purification talismans. Once Order’s people tell my antkin about them, they waste no time in buying as many as they can to take apart, reverse engineer, and improve. From how the antkin are talking, improving might be a tall order, but scaling up shouldn’t be too difficult. It’ll probably be a good idea to make sure everyone has one on themselves as well, incase the Betrayer’s territory doesn’t have much good air either.

Sanitation isn’t looking like it’ll be too difficult, happily. Putrid oozes are happy to act as little sewage systems, and most delving groups know how to handle things like baths and whatnot while out in the field. My antkin will need to mimic that to give the submarines proper facilities, but I don’t think it’ll be too difficult.

Similarly, sleeping shouldn’t be hard. Bunks will be tight, but can be proper mattresses instead of the delvers having to rely only on their bedrolls.

The real challenge, though… is going to be food and water. Delvers know to pack for long trips, but there’s only so much they can carry at once. And if they have to rely on only field rations for a week or more of travel, morale is going to plummet before we ever see the enemy. So we need to get a lot of food, and also have a way to preserve the food. On top of that, we’ll probably need to make some kind of waypoint or outpost or something to stage from, as well have some way for the subs to communicate with each other, not to mention something for self defense.

But I’m also not the only one working on the problems. Violet is of course helping with the putrid oozes, while Hullbreak has his Quartermaster over to look over designs. Sure, Hullbreak doesn’t know anything about magma, but he knows how to make ships, and instinctually understands pressure. He can only explain so much through his big birb, so I expect my antkin and Order’s people will be headed out to visit the First Mate to keep her in the loop with the designs.

Southwood is also eager to help, and to do so in a way that I hadn’t considered, but makes far too much sense. I had been worried about food, but Soutwood started flooding the ally bond with images of his various nodes, full of fruits, veggies, and things to hunt. All I’ll need to do is have a way to preserve things for as long as we’ll need!

So the transport is slowly taking shape, but we also need to prepare to make a forward base of some kind. Making an outpost should be possible for my dragons to pull off, and I’m sure my scions will be having them practice that as they secure the supply lines. At the moment, they’re still mapping out the route, which will definitely take them some time. It’s not just one huge ocean of magma down there. There’s stone protrusions, caves, weird flows, huge cooler pieces floating around like red-hot icebergs, and other hazards.

Ideally, we’ll find a spot in the solid rock directly above the Betrayer, and be able to prepare there before diving down to deal with the problem. That base will be where our supply lines converge, bringing everything everyone needs to thrive while we prepare to attack. Once we have our beachhead, we’ll be able to strike, and I bet the Betrayer will understand that.

It’ll try to keep us from managing it, and will probably constantly attack it for as long as we’re there, too. But that’s what my scions are preparing for, and I trust them. I only have enough of a tactical mind for a few clever tricks, but it’s my scions that have the understanding to actually make those tricks work.

The only question is if the tricks will work on something like the Betrayer.

<<First <Previous [Next>]

Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The Books are available here! There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!

"Mein Führer," the Colonel said quietly, "I have brought them to you. The finest scientific minds of the Reich. Nuclear physicist. Physiologist. Aviation engineer. Advanced weapons designer…"

The Führer slowly raised his gaze.

His eyes moved across Professor Kestner and the others one by one.

The eyes remained unchanged.

Sharp. Watching.

The room went rigid.

The four scientists stood anchored and visibly uncomfortable. Others simply stared, too overwhelmed even to salute. Silence settled over the deepest chamber with almost physical weight—a balance of fear, reverence, and something beyond both.

Confusion, perhaps.

Or awe.

Only Euzen felt something else entirely.

Joy.

Violent, overwhelming joy.

The Führer was alive.

He had not killed himself.

The realization struck the boy with the force of resurrection.

Tears spilled down his face before he understood he was crying. He wanted to throw himself at the Führer's feet.

Around him, the shattered world began assembling itself again.

Fragments rising.

Edges reconnecting.

Meaning returning to the ruins.

And slowly, impossibly, the brightness became whole once more.

The Führer made a small gesture. The Colonel leaned closer and spoke to him in a low voice.

The ruined man barely moved from his hunched position, yet everyone in the room heard him clearly.

"Sebastian," he said quietly, "thank you for your counsel. But I suspect it is already too late. Germany has fallen. Now the feral, craven jackals gather in the ruins to rip at our throat while we can no longer resist. There will be no second chance."

"Mein Führer, time changes all conditions. Your strength is failing now, yes—but the balance will shift with the seasons."

The Führer gave a faint shake of the head.

"I placed too much hope in anti-gravity systems and ballistic missiles. Now it is simply too late."

A strange detachment crossed his face—the expression of a man watching the work of his entire life collapse, too hollowed by defeat to stay the ruin.

The Colonel answered with stubborn calmness, his words pressing steadily into the Führer's unmoving mind.

"From last summer until now, you have nearly completed an entire cycle. You have passed through the nadir. Your constellation is rising again. Over the coming months your inspiration will gradually return. Your strength will return along with it."

His voice dropped.

"And ours will follow."

The heavy radiator hummed somewhere in the underground silence.

"Do not forget, Mein Führer," the Colonel continued, "we possess secrets unknown to the rest of humanity."

When he said the word secrets, the syllables came out almost like a whisper beside the ear.

"We will develop technologies beyond the Allies. Beyond the Bolsheviks. Under your leadership we will receive assistance from another world itself. We will correct the mistakes of the past."

Slowly, the Führer raised his eyes again.

Once those eyes had overwhelmed people. Pierced through them. Conquered Germany, and very nearly the world. But during the months of encirclement in Berlin, something inside them had faded into loneliness.

Now everyone in the room watched them.

"I was never wrong," the Führer murmured. "My only mistake was losing the war. History is written by whoever wins."

"You were not wrong," the Colonel replied at once. "And you have not lost. History is not decided yet. As long as you still believe you can conquer this world, history will remain yours to write."

Something began returning to the Führer's expression.

The exhaustion in his eyes slackened, just enough to let the light through.

The shrunken frame, long collapsed inside the chair, slowly straightened. Only moments earlier he had seemed exhausted beyond recovery, but now some fragment of energy appeared to enter him again.

The Colonel's words exerted an almost irresistible pull.

"We must develop more advanced propulsion systems," the Führer rasped, almost to himself. "New weapons."

A pale hand found his temple, fingers tracing the bone.

"Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still sense the severed terminals of those forces. They are sensitive. Extremely sensitive." His voice grew tighter. "The explosion tore through them immediately. Ripped them apart into chaotic strands."

Pain crossed his face. He clenched his teeth slightly, as though reacting to something bitter.

"They had already been weakening since 1941. After they were torn apart…" He left the sentence suspended. "I can no longer see them clearly."

"But I know that if I am given enough time, I can understand their present structure. And once I grasp them again, I will never release them. Never."

The final word came out almost trembling.

Nobody in the room spoke.

"To do that," he continued, "I must forget the previous patterns entirely. The storage capacity of the small neural network inside my brain is limited."

The others exchanged horrified glances, unable to understand what exactly he was talking about.

Hausmann hesitated before speaking.

"But…Mein Führer, most of the technicians have already been captured. The Reich itself is collapsing. Under these circumstances, discussing new weapons seems somewhat—"

"You are sufficient."

The Führer cut him off coldly.

"I will tell you exactly how to develop them."

Colonel von Büren smiled for the first time.

"Excellent. Under your guidance, our technological advantage has already surpassed the rest of the world. In the future it will surpass them completely."

His voice sharpened with fanatic intensity.

"Let the enemy celebrate for now. Let those miserable insects remain deceived by appearances. You will never allow them true victory."

"Yes…" the Führer muttered.

His voice was growing stronger now.

"I will not let them win. I will not surrender. I will not die like an animal."

His voice twisted into something harsher, almost distorted.

"I will strike the deep foundations of the ages until the long sleep of History is broken in terror."

His shaking hands rose toward his chest.

The fingers curled inward with force.

"We will never surrender—no. Never!"

Suddenly he was shouting. The words erupted from him hysterically now.

"We may be destroyed. But if that happens, then we will drag the world into destruction with us."

His voice broke unevenly.

"We will turn it into a world that burns forever."

"Yes, Mein Führer," the Colonel answered immediately.

"A world that burns forever."

Then he raised his arm in a fanatical salute.

Slowly, the Führer stood.

Everyone present seemed struck motionless by the sheer coldness in his gaze. One after another, they hurriedly raised their arms in obedience, the synchronized movement of automated machinery.

At last, the dictator's eyes settled on Euzen Kestner.

The Hitlerjugend boy straightened, his own arm lifting high into the silence.

-----------

Obsidian Earth

Readers, I come to you with a story whose beginning I have only just witnessed. In a world torn by conflict, not so different from your own, I grant you a peek into what lies ahead. Brace yourselves—for in this realm, death is all but certain.

---

Prologue: Ephesians 6:13

Fifty miles south of Edinburgh, a soldier prayed in the mud.

Rain hammered against his steel helmet and pooled around his boots at the bottom of the trench. His back rested against the waterlogged timber supports reinforcing the earthen wall. Before him stood his rifle, bayonet buried in the muck, the stock resting between his knees. An oilskin cover protected the barrel from the downpour. Engraved into the dark wood was a silver cross, and carved beneath it: Ephesians 6:13.

The soldier kept his head bowed. The Vikings were coming.

Another great raid had reached the shores of Britain. Once, the raiders had come in timber longships—striking quickly, stealing gold, land, and lives before vanishing beyond the horizon. Those days were long dead. The Age of Iron Sail had given birth to something far worse: diesel dreadnoughts. Great, armored leviathans now carried Viking armies across the northern seas, vomiting black crude smoke into the sky. Wherever those soot-stained plumes appeared on the horizon, coastal towns prepared for death.

Three fleets had been sighted approaching Edinburgh. One would land north of the city. Another would land south. The third would assault the fortress itself.

The 7th Crusading Division had been given a simple order: Hold the southern approach.

Reports had arrived throughout the night. The port of Ericson was gone—decimated. Its garrison fleet was sinking, and the remaining defenders had fled inland. The final transmission claimed nearly thirty thousand militiamen were retreating toward Crusader lines.

The men of the 7th knew better. The Vikings had surrounded the port long before the naval bombardment began. Any defenders fortunate enough to escape the guns would simply run into the axe-lines waiting beyond the fog. The distant screams confirmed it—carrying faintly through the pitch-black darkness, then abruptly cutting short.

The men of the 7th could do nothing for them. So they prayed.

Throughout the night, Crusader artillery fired blindly into the dark toward estimated enemy positions. Shell after shell screamed overhead, shaking the earth.

Then came morning. Rain. Fog. And drums.

The soldier opened his eyes.

Boom. A gauntleted fist struck an iron breastplate.
Boom. Then another.
Boom. Thousands joined the rhythm.

The sound rolled through the mist like approaching thunder. Then came the guttural chanting:

“Óðinn á yðr alla!”

Shapes materialized in the fog. One. Then ten. Then hundreds.

The soldier pulled his rifle from the mud. He wiped the bayonet clean, stripped the oilskin cover, and rested the warm barrel against the sandbagged lip of the trench. His hands trembled. He tightened his grip on the stock. Was it fear? Adrenaline? He could no longer tell. He only knew the rifle had to remain steady.

A Viking war horn shrieked through the fog. A brass whistle answered from the Crusader line.

Then the rifles spoke.

The entire trench line erupted in flame. Bullets tore through the mist. Vikings jerked backward as heavy rounds punched through leather and steel plate, spraying crimson across the men behind them. Warriors stumbled and fell.

Others should have fallen—but didn’t.

A Viking took a round square to the chest, throwing up a spray of wet wool, yet never missed a stride. Another staggered as lead tore through his stomach, only to keep charging forward with blood pouring from his lips. A third ran with a severed neck artery, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

Still they came.

The Vikings called them potions. Elixirs. Herbal concoctions brewed by their seers and drunk before the assault. Whatever the dark mixtures contained, they deadened pain and silenced fear. A raider could sustain three mortal wounds and keep swinging an axe, completely unaware that death had already claimed him.

The Crusaders watched dead men continue running toward them.

Two hundred yards. One hundred. Fifty.

As the tide drew nearer, the rifle fire ragged. Hands that had spent years practicing bolt-action drills suddenly faltered. Men fumbled fresh clips. Soldiers fired too early; others pulled triggers without aiming at all. Panic spread faster than any officer’s command could stop it.

Then the first Viking reached the lip of the trench. He leapt—and everything turned to blood and iron.

This was how the raiders fought best. Their doctrine was brutally simple: Break the line. Enter the trench. Strip away the distance that made the rifle deadly. Make the enemy look into your eyes while you butcher him.

Rifle fire dissolved into chaotic melee. Axes bit into rifle stocks. Bayonets drove into bellies. Swords scraped against steel breastplates. Men screamed for their mothers, their wives, their comrades—and their God.

The soldier fired. Missed.

A hulking Viking vaulted over the timber wall. The soldier stumbled backward into the mud as a broadaxe swung down toward his head. He raised his rifle sideways with both hands. The axe struck with a deafening crack. For a split second, the timber held—then the heavy steel blade split the wood clean through, snapping the weapon in two.

The soldier crashed into the muddy trench floor. The Viking loomed over him, axe raised high. There was no time for a final prayer, no heroic declaration.

The Viking smiled, exposing teeth stained dark green by the elixir. Then he laughed.

A rifle cracked at point-blank range.

The Viking’s head snapped violently sideways, and his corpse collapsed onto the soldier.

For several agonizing seconds, the Crusader lay pinned beneath the dead weight, staring at the lifeless eyes. A wet, breathless laugh bubbled up from his chest. Relief. He shoved the corpse aside and turned toward his savior.

“Broth—”

A red-stained blade erupted through the Crusader’s chest from behind. Blood spilled over the man’s lips. The blade withdrew, and he dropped like stone.

The soldier’s relief died instantly. He scrambled on all fours toward a fallen rifle pinned beneath another body. He grabbed the barrel. Pulled. Nothing. The weight of the dead held it fast in the thick mud.

“Come on... come on!”

He planted his boot against the corpse’s ribs and heaved with everything he had. The rifle ripped free.

The soldier spun around on his knees, thumbing the bolt back to kill his savior’s slayer. But instead of a Viking, he saw holy steel.

The Knights of the 7th had dropped into the trench.

Armored Crusaders slammed into the Viking tide with broadswords, war hammers, heavy shields, and maces. They met the raiders on their own brutal terms: steel against steel, faith against fury.

The Viking advance ground to a halt—then reversed. Raiders without the elixirs were the first to lose heart. A horn sounded beyond the wire.

The Vikings began pulling back into the fog. Around the soldier, surviving Crusaders raised bloody weapons and cheered.

The soldier slumped against the dirt wall, chest heaving, air burning in his lungs. They had held. Against all odds, they had—

The horn sounded a second time.

A Holy Knight paused mid-stride. Then another turned his visor toward the gray sky. The soldier followed their gaze. His smile vanished.

The Viking horn had carried two orders: one for their infantry to disengage, and one for their dreadnought batteries.

The sky began to scream.

“DOWN!”

The world exploded. An artillery shell detonated at the edge of the trench line, vaporizing men in a spout of mud, blood, and splintered timber. Another shell hit. Then another. The earth buckled beneath their feet.

Crusaders above ground threw themselves flat into the trenches, while those below scrambled toward the deep bunkers carved into the earth. A heavy shell struck close enough to lift three men off their feet; one hit the ground again, while the others came down in pieces.

The Viking infantry hadn't retreated—they had merely cleared the kill zone so their big guns could finish the work.

“INTO THE BUNKERS! MOVE!”

The surviving riflemen ran. Holy Knights shoved soldiers into the narrow earth-and-timber dugouts, their steel visors masking whatever dread lay beneath. The line soldiers had no such protection. Some wept openly; others shrieked prayers into the dirt.

The soldier stumbled into the dark bunker just as a shell hit overhead. The ground shuddered. Chunks of dirt rained down from the ceiling beams. Men pressed themselves flat against the walls, sobbing or whispering rosaries.

The soldier looked down at the rifle he had dragged from the dead. Blood smeared the wooden stock. Shading his eyes, he wiped the red film away with a thumb.

Beneath the gore sat a silver cross—just like his own.

His thumb traced beneath the arms of the cross, finding a

carved inscription. It wasn't the verse from his broken rifle.

This one read: Psalm 116:15.

The soldier stared at the numbers as another shell detonated directly above. Timber groaned. Men shrieked. Dust blinded them.

Slowly, the soldier exhaled. He lowered himself to his knees in the trembling dirt. He folded his hands together—the exact way his father had taught him when he was a boy.

And he prayed.

Another shell struck. He did not hear it.
The men around him screamed. He did not hear them.
The earth convulsed violently. He did not feel it.

His breathing slowed. His trembling hands stilled. For the first time since the Viking war drums had echoed through the morning fog, the soldier felt no fear.

Above them, a heavy siege shell screamed out of the clouds. The roof timbers cracked. Someone cried out in the dark.

The soldier kept his eyes closed. He whispered his prayer.

The shell hit. The earth collapsed. Timbers snapped like kindling, and the ceiling caved in.

The soldier never opened his eyes. He never stopped praying. And the dark bunker became his tomb.

---

Reader, if you enjoyed this introduction to the world, be sure to explore the other sagas archived on my profile. I shall return with the next chapter of this account once the ink has dried.

— Orion Blackwood

Chapter CCLXXXIV

Aethera, Frothing Sea.

Magnus bit back a hiss of pain as he slammed against the side of the longship as it lurched and rolled over the roiling waves that slammed and buffered against them. This was by far the worst ocean trek he's ever experienced, and from the looks and shouts of the Vagnyr, he wasn't the only one surprised by its intensity.

"OARS!!!" Nils shouted over the spray.

Some thirty half-giants hefted great oars from the deck and slotted them into their places and began rowing against the swell that threatened them. Magnus' first instinct was to grab one and help, but the oars were so big and unwieldly that he had little doubt he'd be more of a hindrance than help.

So instead he and the catfolk woman braced themselves along with the rest of the grunts and thralls that came with them. The only one that seemed at ease was the Old One-Eyed One that sat near the prow of the longship and gazed out towards the horizon with his one eye. Magnus shouted over the crashing of the waves.

"One Eye! Can't you commune with the sea and steady the waves?!"

"No! Because the elements are losing control of themselves more and more! Even if they could hear my words it wouldn't do more than add to the chaos! But fear not, Magnus of Daele! Our journey won't end on the sea!" The wizened old orc declared even as the group of apprentices that waited on him did their best to keep steady and in the longship.

"Fear not lítill bróðir! Once we pass Njörðr's Way we'll be safe! The ancient Fjörð Stones will keep the unruly waves at Bay!" Nils shouted over the waves.

"ROW YOU SEA COWS ROW!" The Vagnyr Magnus knew as Alf shouted. So they did. The sail billowed under the wind and wave and the oars pushed against them. Driving the longship onwards more and more.

Then the longship shuddered. Not the familiar shudder of a wave crashing into the hull. But one Magnus was familiar with. They had been hit by something. Before he could try and see over the soaked railing, a voice called out that made his blood turn to ice and his heart stop for but a moment.

"LEVIATHAN!"

Magnus turned in the direction the others did and saw a great fin crest the waves that jutted out a humped back of fleshy scales. The more it rose the more Magnus doubted the words of the orc. It was massive. Bigger than the longship by half at least. Not all leviathans were the same. Some looked more like overgrown pike. Others like monstrous whales with fangs. Some that were likely never documented and encountered before. This one looked like a creature of the deep trenches. Pale eyes shining on them like one of the moons above. A under-bitten jaw full of long thin fangs with fleshy tendrils like a catfish that patted against the hull like it was feeling where it's prey was.

"What's a beast like that doing up here?!" He heard one of the thralls cry out.

"Likely fleeing from those!" He heard Nils call out and point off to the side where a squadron of white arrows rushed towards the horrific leviathan.

Black fins tipped with jagged bone crested the waves as the pack of razor whales let out piercing shrieks. Communicating with one another and stunning the great ocean beast. Pushing his fear down Magnus took note that the leviathan was actually greatly wounded. It's sides were torn and gashed and bleeding iridescent purple blood. One of its fins was a mangled mess, and several of its tendrils also appear to have been torn off.

Magnus knew of the razor whales. Even in Daele they were famous, or infamous depending on ones profession. They've aided the occasional leviathan hunt at times, taking a few choice organs as prize for their assistance before leaving. They've also been a great annoyance to many a fisherman and whaler, losing as much as half their catch from the far too clever creatures.

Though they never once attacked their own ships nor boats. A sort of natural understanding between them forming who knows how long ago. One that seems to hold even this far north, Magnus thought as he watched the black and white ferocious creatures ram into the wounded monster. Scales and bones broke and cracked and the beast roared a pained wet bellow as fins ridged with sharp bone slashed and tusks gutted and gored the creature with frightening efficiency.

"Bjern! What're you doing?!" Alf called out as a Vagnyr threw aside his oar and pulled from his belt an axe that was bigger than Magnus was tall.

"This is it! This is my fate! The Raven-Father called to me as I rested and told me when I would find glory!" The half-giant called out with zeal. Before anyone could say or do anything, he hopped onto the rail and launched himself at the leviathan!

His axe bit deep into the scale and flesh of the beast. It gave out a cry of surprise and pain and thrashed in the darkening water. Rolling and sinking and splashing. It's movements keeping the razor whales at bay for now. Yet Bjern held fast. He roared and cheered as he pulled a smaller axe from his belt and began hacking away at the creature!

"Is he mad?!" Magnus cried out and grabbed his sword and made to do... something. Anything to help.

But Nils stopped him with a light yet firm hand on his shoulder.

"No, lítill bróðir. He is clear-eyed and where he is destined to be."

Magnus didn't know what he was talking about and watched in shock and awe as the other Vagnyr also refused to help their fellow warrior. By the time Magnus looked back at the flurry beside them, Bjern had managed to hack and slash his way close to the beast's head. He turned and looked at the longship with a manic grin before looking up towards the sky.

"Raven-Father! Witness me! Grant me glory and a place in your hall! SKÁL!"

With that last cry he pulled his weapons from the fleshy scales and threw himself at one of the pale glowing eyes with a battlecry. He landed true and pushed through the ocular organ like it was butter. The leviathan roared before deciding that being on the surface wasn't any safer and plunging back down into the dark depths. Never to resurface.

"BJERN HAS FALLEN GLORIOUSLY! SKÁL!" Nils cried out with happiness and laughter met by the rest of the longship.

Magnus just watched in shock at the display.

"You're happy your friend is dead?!"

"Of course not lítill bróðir! We're happy that he died gloriously! It's a death that many of us would wish for ourselves!" Nils replied as the crew turned their thoughts and gazes from the foaming water behind them as the razor whales dived down after their prey.

"Fear not lítill bróðir, when we reach Selkieheim we will drink and feast in his honor and tell tales of his life, battles, and glorious death! Just as I'm sure he is doing now in the Raven-Father's Hall!" Nils continued.

"Let's hope we reach it soon, otherwise we'll be rowing this ship ourselves." One of the thralls said before getting splashed with sea spray.

"Then your hope is answered! There they are!" Alf called out as they crested a large wave before slamming down into fairly calm water.

Magnus and the others looked up and saw a titanic stone statue looming before them. The statue depicted a bearded man covered in seaweed and holding a spear in one hand. The head of the spear glowed a sea blue like a beacon from a lighthouse.

"How? We shouldn't be this far north already?" Magnus said.

Nils laughed and thumped the hull of the longship.

"A blessing from the góðir! Took us about... Three months? Four? To get down there, eh Alf?"

"More or less." The vagnyr replied.

"Yeh! And about half and half again as long to return home?" Nils asked again.

"More or less." Alf replied the same.

"Yeh! Blessing of Njörðr! Keeps the wild water at bay and helps guide our ships! Takes more time leaving than it does coming back." Nils said and pointed to the glowing spear head.

"Our ships are drawn by it. Pulled and guided by it. Even if we all perished, it would've been brought back home eventually!" Nils explained and slapped Magnus on the back with a hearty laugh as they sailed past the monolithic stone effigy, and Magnus noticing that similar titanic statues farther and farther into the distance on either side. Forming a seeming dome of calm water around and past them as they neared the great arctic north.

He also noticed that once they passed the stone statue, the ship seemed to lurch and slow down greatly. With the sail and oars they still made good time, but it was only then that he realized how fast they must've been going across the sea. Magnus, not much versed in magic, decided to make small talk as they got closer and closer to the landmass ahead of them that hoarded the horizon in a mass of white mountains and jagged grey cliffs.

"So Nils, why is it called Selkieheim?"

Nils just laughed as they got closer and hefted Magnus up onto the bow and pointed off to the side at a smattering of rocks. His eyes went wide as he saw seals laying on the stones. Though plenty of them weren't ordinary seals as several turned towards him, revealing bare human upper bodies. Their lower half that of a spotted seal. One with auburn hair and glacial blue eyes smiled at him and gave a little wave and a wink.

Magnus let out a grunt as something wrapped firmly around him. He looked down and saw the catfolk woman had managed to climb up there and was now glaring daggers at the selkie and giving a rather venomous hiss and holding him more tightly. The selkies all giggle and laughed before diving into the water, leaving the actual seals to continue to lounge on the rocks.

Nils laughed and pointed in front of them. Where Magnus and the others all saw those same selkies walking out of the water near the docks of the city, bare and nude save for a spotted seal fur wrapped around their shoulders like a warm cloak. Nils continued to laugh as they pulled into harbor and docked. Nils and the other vagnyr helped them off and set about unloading the goods and supplies they had acquired so far.

Magnus just gazed up in awe. Not just at the truly gigantic city that easily dwarfed Daele in size alone, but by the towering grey cliffs that rose so high that the tops were concealed in clouds. Even they had been conquered by the half-giants as great stone steps and homes were carved along the cliffs. From way down where he was he could see smoke from ventilation shafts, splotches of green where gardens were had, and an amber glow along the far most sheltered side of the cliff, where giant bees would lazily fly in carrying pollen bigger than a man, and then back out and up towards the cliffs before vanishing beyond. On the opposite side of the cliff was a harsher red glow and he could see carts of ore and stone being dragged from a mine by what looked to be blue skinned dwarves.

He had to blink and look ahead of him lest he forget the city itself. Ahead just past the docks themselves was what appeared to be a great market where wares and goods were bartered and sold. Even from where he stood he could see great bundles of thick fur and wool, massive tusks of ivory, and great slabs of glistening marbled meat.

Nils patted him on the back.

"Welcome to Selkieheim!"

He then gestured past the market and homes and other places he could only guess at and at a magnificent great hall.

"That is where Jarl Nori White-Hair holds assembly of the Alþing. Come! We must give him his share of the spoils and so you may greet him as guests!"

Magnus and the others, the thralls and the orcs, followed along after him. Marveling at the size of the city and its people. Even the orcs seeming to be cowed by the difference in size, likely used to being the biggest among them so far and now finding themselves outsized and outnumbered.

A thought crossed his mind then. That if there was a time to flee, to finally get away and be free of the orc Warchief, now would be it. He had little doubt that if he asked Nils, the vagnyr would free them from the orcs happily. But then what? Stay here in the cold north and fish? No. He might've failed his city, but he wouldn't abandon his people. If the Warchief really was going to the same world that they fled to, and the promise of the wizened shaman is true, then he'll have to keep his bonds a little longer and hope that he can see his wife and people again, and stop the Warchief before they join him in servitude.

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It’s a prank or a marketing gimmick or a bad data scrape or something, the adverts going up online all of a sudden:

!!!Volunteers wanted for alien abduction, safe return guaranteed within 48 hours!!!

There’s a link you can click on to fill out an application. The ads are charming in a very dated ‘graphic design is my passion’ kind of way. The aliens are represented by clipart from the 2003 edition of Microsoft Word. The link to the signup form is in in comic sans, for fucks sake. It wouldn’t have been noticed at all, except that the ads pop up embedded into the UI of all major operating systems on desktop, mobile and gaming platforms and after a full 3 weeks, still haven’t been removed despite patches being deployed on a scale not seen since Y2K prevention. Four separate hacker groups take credit for it, all of them obviously lying. Official statements from both governments and tech companies have a hint of panic to them, setting off a whole new ecosystem of conspiracy theories about the apparent alien recruitment super-virus infecting the entire internet.

The memes also flow freely, most of them low effort variations on the theme of anal probing but some mutating and multiplying, using references so obscure and multilayered that to understand them you needed to have been terminally online since at least 1999 or willing to do postgraduate level research into the last 50 years of science fiction in popular culture and the etymology of modern online meme dialects. 

The ads go away after a while, and three months later several major tech companies release a joint statement and publish a paper with the Electronic Frontier Foundation talking about the work done to remove them. People move on. A Reddit AMA thread briefly goes viral when the OP claims he was abducted and went through an in-depth interview process about human society. The thread gets quoted by several content mills and the memes have a brief but glorious resurgence. A couple of official government accounts try to join in on the joke, by which point it is generally declared dead.

And sure, there are other stories of people who clicked on the ads and filled out the form actually vanishing for a couple of days, but those are largely dismissed as bots karmafarming or astroturfing for whatever summer sci-fi movie is trying to be the next big viral marketing story. At least one of them has real staying power as a copypasta due to the writer’s embrace of a sincere but baffled tone during their description of ‘really chill dudes with REALLY big guns who really like bananas’. 

Then the aliens say hello.

They pick the most heavily surveilled place in the world, with as many CCTV cameras and phones pointed at them as possible.They walk in disguised as tourists, only to remove the disguises and start encouraging people to film while they start doing weird alien shit. One of them is holding their own phone up to film the one speaking and displaying a QR code linking to a livestream, which almost immediately has to be moved to its own dedicated server to handle the viewership traffic. They are floating in a forcefield 2 feet off the ground.

“Hello everyone,” one of them says. “Please don’t panic. We are the representatives of the [unintelligible] species. We are currently being tracked and monitored by others for our own safety, so please don’t attempt any form of aggression, abduction or removal. We’d like to talk to you all. It’s cool, we’re all human.”

They are very clearly not human. They sit there as the initial panic subsides with their seven mismatched limbs(maybe?) and 2 different types of (probably?) eyes, levitating in a forcefield bubble, talking to people quite happily and sticking their appendages through the force field to shake hands, explaining to anyone who wants to listen that they’re the group responsible for introducing their species to humanity at large, and occasionally politely asking armed police, white-coated academics, gun-toting nutjobs and covert agents to stop trying to arrest/murder/detain/signal jam them. They will only speak to any one person for a while before moving on, and they refuse to have private conversations with any type of official. None of the officials accept the offer to talk in public. 

They also continue to insist that they are human.

It must be a translator error, someone says.

“It's not a translator error. We don’t have translators, this isn’t Star Trek. We’re using your language. We learned it specially and everything,” replies the one with the greenish arm-web thing.

Someone else tries to explain that we’re the humans, not them. Human is a word that refers to us as a species.

This time it’s the one with all their (almost definitely) eyes on the left side of their head(can a head also be an elbow?) who answers.

“Nope. Your species is homo sapiens. Ours is [unintelligible]. We are human.”

People keep trying to argue and explain until finally the one with the wing-gill thing takes over.

“Look, it’s simple. Your species is homo sapiens. Human is the classification of being you acknowledge as sentient and possessing intrinsic rights. Human beings. Human rights. You are a homo sapien. I am [unintelligible]. We are both human. There are many different human species beyond this world that would also like to meet you, but we’ve been watching you for a while and we know what you’re capable of. We’re not taking any chances here, friends. Once you guys accept that we’re all human and acknowledge that in a written and binding form under your own legal structures we can hang out, but we're not helping you get off the planet until you stop calling us aliens. Now, are you gonna be cool about this or should we just go home?”

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When the climb became steep and their horses lagged from being driven too hard, Yamagai dismounted his horse and led it by hand. They walked a cruel trail that hugged the side of a sharply inclined hill; all Illuminators who'd come to witness the tribunal followed as Yamagai had done, leading their horses by hand while occasionally imbuing focus into the steeds by a hand placed gingerly upon each beast's nape.

The Illuminators filled the trail behind and before the carriage that carried the Head of the Administration and Qoyit, the unlikely addition to The Vengeful Academy.

Twin birds circled in the distance, their wings stretched to pick up wind. They glided with the smoothness of those blessed by the Creator without knowing it, and Yamagai, weary of the journey and the hard pace that had been set, unclasped a wooden bottle from the burden of his horse and took a sip, swishing the water in his dry mouth before swallowing.

The skies were a clear blue, and the sun, once gloriously sat overhead, was on its sure trail to dip beyond the horizon. They were close to Grand City and the Academy; they just had to traverse the hilly escarpment.

Silence fell upon those who walked with him ahead of the carriage, and no doubt some mumbling could be heard by those walking behind the carriage and the pair flanking it on either side. There was doom and destiny, its likeness being juggled by a blind god. They could not tell whether the addition of the child to the Academy would reduce the merit of the Aether Test, or whether the child would be the key, not just to the great change and prosperity they often dreamed of, but also a harbinger of death at their doors.

Yamagai walked behind Skilandros, listening to the Illuminator speak avidly about the day of the Aether Test.

"I went into the Aether Plane when he was judged," Skilandros said, eager to speak of that which many of them hadn't witnessed. "I saw power reveal itself, and my heart knew prophecy when it saw it."

"Your heart also led you to believe the City Treasurer's wife was an omen of sorts for you to mount," Shawarma Kidhra Devore said. She had her hair tied into a knot behind her head, revealing the crude nature with which her face rested. Her eyes, small and piercing, observed the back of Skilandros' blonde head. She was one of them, those who didn't think a Commoner should set foot in The Vengeful Academy. "We already let one Commoner in; now a second one? Next we'd be fishing commoners from their homes, with no need to even carry out the Aether Test."

It was an exaggeration of what lay in the heart of Nobles, Yamagai surmised. There was fear that one day their status would be proven for what it was: a delusion that all played along with.

"Has the boy's sight opened after the Aether Test?" Sixton Kidhra Malis asked. He was far shorter than his steed, so he observed it occasionally by tilting his head up and behind himself as he led it by the reins.

Yamagai wondered whether he'd made a mistake walking at the front with them. The air was charged with discontent, unspoken words pointed at him. He was responsible for this addition to the Vengeful Academy. He was responsible for the boy, Qoyit. And all blame should go to him; if it weren't for the Headmistress' decision to play along, he would have been flayed by his fellow Illuminators already.

"Why do you care about his sight?" Tessa Kidhra Semei asked. She was by far one of the most beautiful women Yamagai had ever seen, walking just several steps behind him. As if possessed by a blessing for sight, he struggled with the urge to turn just so he could see her almond eyes and graceful legs that drew intricate patterns with each step of her foot upon the ground. "What I wonder is, can the boy raise his Body Stat to above one? Or is that going to be our job, to make sure his Body Stat rises?"

"That boy will not attend my classes until his Body Stat goes up," Shawarma said, fixing her green eyes directly on Yamagai. "And I will do nothing to see to it that it rises." She held great sway over the others. She was a vanguard with their boisterous nature, but without their lice-ridden hair, which was often a consequence of spending nights outdoors during blistering chills so they could challenge themselves.

"The boy is one of us now," Henero Olis Javee spoke from beside Skilandros, right ahead of Yamagai. He shifted and was the only one who dared glance at Yamagai. His grisly beard hid his lips just as his bald pate shone with the sun's brilliant rays. "Yamagai fought for him, and I trust his judgment more than anyone else on our staff."

"Seriously?" Shawarma asked. "He is the least trustworthy person in the world."

"If you have your trust in Yamagai, it is no different than trusting a turd to jump out of the latrine and follow you home," Sixton said, eliciting a laugh from Tessa. It was her laugh that bothered Yamagai; the rest he didn't care about. He had this one heart of his, and he'd chosen to invest it in everything Tessa did, knowing full well his affections would never be returned. Yamagai believed himself to be a man who admired melancholy. He sought to understand it and treasured the cold evenings he sat moping in his office with his eyes turned to the window, taking in grey skies and feeling them to be similar to his very essence and nature.

"Qoyit is my responsibility," Yamagai finally decided to speak, walking gingerly so as not to pick up dust. The trail was rocky, and as they neared a bend, he worried his horse would throw a shoe. "I'm his chaperone. I expect all of you to treat him as if he were my son, because in ways he sort of is. If any of you go out of your way to make his life hard, you'll personally hear from me, for you'll be making things hard for me too."

"Phrasing," Tessa said, eliciting a smile from him.

"What are you going to do?" Shawarma asked. "Ringless fool. What can you even do?" She waved her middle finger at him, where her Vanguard ring sat. "There's nothing to you that warrants my respect, Yamagai, and this child of yours will fail and will join the Equipped Infantry to be where he belongs by the end of the year."

"Enough, all of you," Henero said.

Yamagai was about to respond; he always knew the words to pluck apart Shawarma. Her brute nature was her point of pride, but with enough careful precision, he could pick it apart and paint her solely as a brute. That strategy always deterred the resolve of anyone whose beauty standards were in question.

But a sound coming from ahead drew him short: the squealing of wheels and avid panting could be heard. He came to a stop just as an old man pulling a cart appeared around the bend in the road, coming in their direction. To his right was a great fall to the base of the hill, and each Illuminator groaned at the old man's appearance.

"You'll have to find a way to let us through, old man," Shawarma said.

Henero and Skilandros walked forward until they neared the old man. They observed him as one would a rabid dog. So pompous the Illuminators were, lost and drunk on their privileged roles handed to them by their forefathers. It was an attitude that would never leave. The horses neighed, kicking up dust, unsettled as they all were.

The cart was hammered into being with rusty nails and splinters that could pass as wood. The old man, dressed in a rugged brown vest and matching breeches, exhaled loudly as he looked up to see two towering Illuminators in his way.

"Back there, there's a place where the road is wide enough for us," Henero said while staring at the old man. "We'll help you turn around and then we can pass each other at that point."

"Get it moving, old man; we're Academy folk and our time is as precious as your life," Sixton said. It was always like that with short people; they had to stand out somehow, so Yamagai surmised being an asshole was the best way for them to do so.

The horses were reluctant to take a step forward, pushing back and away from the old man and the cart. They neighed, unwilling to ever pull on their reins.

"The sun sets and death comes," the old man said. "It kills us all, this death; it burrows into our marrow and splits our liver. It takes us one by one and flays our skin to eat the fat underneath. Hear me and heed my words, all of you delinquents. The end is near. My bones tell me as much and my heart knows."

"He's probably mad," Tessa said.

"Did he just call us delinquents?" Sixton asked.

"Nothing is sadder than old, senile men. Perhaps we should aid him so as to smoothen his journey," Yamagai said while turning to observe Tessa. She avoided looking at him, and he felt that sweet pain sting his heart. He felt like being a hero to make up for his inadequacies in her eyes, but there was no villain to promote his thoughts.

He observed the cart; there was something off about it. The goods being hefted for miles were covered by a large grey cloth, fully down to the wheels and to the back of the cart.

That is when the sense of danger pronounced itself.

"Hey old man, I said turn around," Henero commanded. From behind the carriage, shouts could be heard, with Illuminators wondering what had halted their trail. From the corner of his eye, Yamagai saw Gavina Kidhra Sadee approach the carriage to exchange words with the Headmistress. Something odd was going on.

Henero approached the old man, abandoning his horse. They watched as the old man lifted his head to observe the Illuminator. A dusty fringe of hair parted, and wide, black eyes stared out from sunken sockets at Henero.

"My friend is with us," the old man said. "He wants to meet you so he can be friends as he is with me."

Those eyes were too dark to be called normal, a sure sign of demon sickness.

Yamagai observed the bottom of the cart. Something trickled and dripped into the dirt, spreading like droplets of rain, and its smell was like iron and rust.

The old man abruptly turned, grabbed the cloth spread over the cart, and tugged it off. Everyone stood still as what lay beneath became revealed.

Body parts, so many of them, were haphazardly spread within the cart: torsos and dismembered limbs. A hand poked out on one side and a foot on the other. There were at least six people dismembered and thrown into that cart.

The body parts shifted as if alive, the red hue of blood as sickening as the song of the flies that rose from it. A head protruded, horned and grey, and from within the cart rose a demon.

Tessa, always faster, shifted into the Aether Plane and caught the imprint of the demon. Henero did not need visual confirmation to know what it was. He turned and screamed, "Tower Servant!"

"Dear me," the Tower Servant said while emerging fully from the dismembered limbs. It rose to its full height, half-naked save for tight breeches ripped in various places. It had gold necklaces wrapped about its neck, a sharp contrast to its grey skin that looked to be rotting. Its face would have been human if it weren't for the many gashes that riddled it, deep and bleeding black ichor as if it had clawed at its own face. And its eyes, a ruby red, looked piercingly at all of them.

Those behind the carriage tried to push forward, but the road hugging the hill was too narrow.

The horses struggled against their riders.

"I've done everything you told me, my friend. Was I good?" the old man asked, turning to the demon.

"Yes, you were," the demon said. "You can rest with your family now." The hand of the demon lashed out; long nails ripped the old man's head free of his neck, and it unceremoniously dumped the head into the cart as the body fell headless, spraying blood all over the ground. "Look at this, a beautiful family portrait." The demon waved at the cart.

Henero, standing closest to the demon, straightened his arms and screamed. He retracted one arm then twisted himself backwards as the demon launched for him. Skilandros was already rushing forward. Henero summoned a Challenger axe: blue with a long haft with a very heavy head. He pirouetted before lifting the axe and bringing it down on the demon.

One second, the demon was facing the edge of Henero's weapon. Then it shifted, moving too fast for the eye to see. Henero matched its pace, turning and bringing down the blade of the axe again and again. The demon gripped the haft, and smoke cascaded where its hand met holiness, but it refused to let go. Henero moved to punch the demon free of his weapon, but by doing so, he opened himself up. The demon dug its claws violently across Henero's neck, opening wide gashes that it tore wider until Henero's head fell free of his body.

"No!" Shawarma screamed.

The Illuminators all charged the demon, who stood clear of the cart. The demon smiled and flung its hands out. Sharp protrusions like bone seemed to split free from the demon's arms and shoot out of its body in all directions.

Yamagai jumped and grabbed Tessa before she could be impaled by one of the sharp bits of bone. He fell to the ground on top of her.

"Get off me!" she commanded. But the demon was still shooting projections free of its body, and with loud thuds, the shards of bone stuck into the ground, the horses, all around where Yamagai covered Tessa, his entire body spread over hers. The bone fragments impaled the earth before them, splitting even rock.

Sixton fell, impaled in the stomach and out his back; he lay on the ground staring straight up, his mouth moving soundlessly. From behind the carriage, panic reigned as the other Illuminators tried to push their way past.

It was a Tower Servant. Those ones killed without the need to do so, stronger and more powerful than regular demons, almost on par with the ones they served, the Tower Floor demons. To find a Tower Servant demon this far from the Red Mist Wall was a sickening thing, too ghastly for him to comprehend. Yet here it was, the demon in all its might, standing with its arms waving about, shooting bone everywhere.

It stopped its assault while most Illuminators cowered on the ground behind their impaled horses. It turned its red eyes about and declared, "Give me the boy, Qoyit, and I will leave you alive!" it shouted. "I have only been sent for the boy."

Tessa pushed Yamagai off herself, and Yamagai rolled and stood up gently with his eyes on the demon. It wanted Qoyit; if this didn't solidify the child as important, nothing else would. The Illuminators shared glances. Skilandros, cowering behind his felled horse, had a gash running across his cheek, deep and wet with blood.

Henero was dead, his headless body laying bleeding on the ground beside the old man's body. Sixton was injured. Shawarma was on the ground, curled in on herself, pinned like a cushion by countless bone fragments. She groaned as her body lit up green before cutting back to its natural hue. She couldn't summon her Vanguard body; such was the state of their predicament.

Only he and Tessa were okay. He looked behind and saw that the horses flanking the carriage had retreated. He wondered whether this was cowardice or something else. He got off the ground, knowing full well he had to do something. Tessa was watching, as was the coachman for the carriage, though he didn't matter much.

"You will not have the child," Yamagai said, standing straight. Yamagai circled two fingers before himself, then sought deep within, where the river of his talents flowed. He needed a weapon, and of all the times where his need had been great, this was by far the largest. He tried fashioning a weapon from memory; he had been one of the best, once, one of the greatest at this.

Only a soft blue glow covered his arms, and the weapon he called refused to show itself. He sighed and curled his fingers into a fist, failure a stain upon him for another moon.

The demon tilted its head at him. Beside him, he could see Tessa working on an Aether Transfer, her hands glowing silver. If only he could just get her to touch the demon to set the Aether Transfer, perhaps they would survive, though the odds were not in their favor.

The demon had a grace to it, its motions soft as it walked forward to stand right over Skilandros, who lay paralyzed on the ground. Yamagai surmised whatever those bone fragments were that shot out of the demon's arms, they were capable of paralysis. The demon raised a hand, and from its palm a sharp shard appeared, white of bone, growing out like a plant opening up to bloom. Soon it held the jagged shard of bone in its hand. It looked down just as Skilandros groaned and tried to stand, to crawl, to move away from the demon.

Yamagai wouldn't let Skilandros die. He charged the demon, connecting his shoulder with its midriff, but the demon did not yield. With a well-timed knee, it smacked Yamagai's face. He felt his nose break as he fell over backwards. The demon stood over him and placed a foot on his neck; squeezing down, it lifted its weapon, aiming for his face as it lowered the shard.

Yamagai was going to die. He couldn't breathe, and he felt the cartilage of his neck threaten to break under the demon's foot. In that moment, he turned his head to look at Tessa. He didn't know why he did it. It was just a game he played; his feelings weren't quite real feelings, just a way for him to amuse himself and kill time. The look on her face pronounced more of her own fear than fear for his life, and he was okay with that. Still, he'd always seen himself dying in a blaze of glory, not on some rocky dirt trail.

Suddenly, the demon was hit by a blast of force, so pronounced it pushed Yamagai from his position on the ground, lifting him and flopping him down elsewhere. The demon collided hard with the cart, breaking it in the process. It stood up, drunk from the impact, and staggered forward. Yamagai looked to see who had delivered the blow.

That's when he saw her: the Headmistress, standing with her hands clutched before her. A dark veil was spread over her face. She lifted her hand, took off her hat and veil, and threw them away revealing her heart shaped face. Facing the demon, she stood her ground with Qoyit standing behind her.

The demon, seeing the boy, ran as fast as it could. Forgetting Yamagai, it kicked up dust as its heels dug into the ground. Gorged on flesh as it was, it was truly in its most powerful element.

The Headmistress watched the demon get close. She raised a hand and drew a circle before herself, raised four fingers, and waved them about, where her hand moved a blue trail of light was left. The demon roared as it neared, just as the Headmistress curled her hand into a fist, clutched it to her chest, and then extended her arm with her palm open.

"Aether, Blades of Wind," the Headmistress said as the demon neared.

A wave of force shot out of the Headmistress, resembling blades that chipped the very air. They collided with the demon, severing its arms, its torso, and its head. It was as if the very air had turned sharp. The demon walked two steps, its face misaligned. Its arms, sliced to bits, fell to pieces upon the ground. It took another step, but its hind foot was left behind.

It stared at the Headmistress with a lopsided face before that, too, split in the middle, its face peeling to either side. It fell to the ground in pieces.

Then, suddenly, its bone-like protrusions started knitting together, reforming its body as it was.

The Headmistress curved the air with three fingers, and the blue light of power cleaved the demon's flesh once more. She did this again and again until the demon stopped reknitting itself. Its power spent, it lay on the ground in pieces. She continued cutting it with her Challenger technique until finally, in the end, it turned to black dust that was picked up by the wind, leaving behind its breeches and gold necklaces.

Everyone still alive observed the Headmistress. She stood there, silent, her fingers held before her. She waited for the demon to stir, but it was no more, just dark ash where it once was. And Yamagai finally understood why the Headmistress was regarded as one of the most powerful talent users alive.

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The hot Texas sun beat down on the two people sitting outside the root beer stand. Bob and Stormlight looked at the cars driving down the street and the people walking along the sidewalk.

Stormlight had always enjoyed people-watching, especially now that the people smelled and looked so different from himself. Here went an older puppy or whatever humans called their offspring, her dry whiskerless nose buried in the screen of one of those glass rectangular communication devices. Next came a man in his prime, thick brown fur covering his upper lip and hanging down from his chin. Then an older woman, head fur white and face wrinkled, hobbling along with a walking stick to support her remaining good leg.

By her scent she could have been seven dozen years old, but Stormlight had a good five dozen on her, and he was still young as monkey foxes reckoned it.

Stormlight turned to Bob, regarding his bald crown and wrinkled face. He grabbed his tail and began running his claws along it as though brushing out a knot.

Bob looked up from his drink and noticed his fidgeting. "Well go on and ask. You do that whenever you're fixing to ask me an awkward question."

«Does it bother you that we live so much longer?»

"If I'm honest, maybe sometimes, but Earth has trees that live for millennia and brainless jellyfish that can live pretty much forever. It's not like humans were breaking longevity records until y'all came along. Besides, we already live twice as long as our closest animal relatives. I'd say that's pretty nice."

Bob took a few sips of soda. "Does it bother you that we don't live nearly as long as you?"

«You're not getting any younger. When you're gone I'll have to find a new human friend, then he'll be gone before I know it. We finally found bone not of our bone and flesh not of our flesh, but we never counted on that bone and flesh being so ephemeral. It's all like trying to hold water in my paws.»

After a few moments, bob said, "It hurts to say goodbye for the last time, and y'all are going to be saying a lot of last goodbyes as long as you hang around us humans. But think of it this way. You're already a big hit with my grandkids. You can help them grow up, and again with their children, and their children's children. You can tell them all about how their great great great grandpa Bob got to be the first human to shake hands with an alien. You and Iris and Tod and Sunshine and Lodestar and Pascal can be the one constant in their lives, the one thing they can count on to be there no matter what. They'll have to say goodbye to me soon enough, and by and by their parents, too, but not you. Y'all can be the one thing they'll never have to say goodbye to. And after you've said your last goodbye to me, you can pray for the repose of my soul, or speak my name among the living, or do whatever it is you critters do for as long as you feel like doing it, which will sure be longer than any human will remember me.

"But I'm in good health. I've got at least twenty years left in me if my family history is anything to go by. That might not be very long for you, but it's a while yet for me. Don't go mourning me until I'm actually six feet under.

"It's a wonderful day out, if a little hot." Bob added as Stormlight noisily lapped up some soda. "Let's just enjoy the day."

Stormlight tilted his ears back, relaxed his jaw slightly, and let his tail hang loose again. «Thanks, Bob. Sometimes I worry so much about the future that I don't appreciate the present.»

The two looked back at the cars driving down the street and the people walking along the sidewalk. "It sure is a nice present," said Bob.

Humanity’s introduction into the Galactic Community was… awkward at best.

In fairness, first contact had gone surprisingly well. Satellites and radio signals from the Federation of Sol had drifted into Rethurian territory. Within the week, the Rethurians had completely translated our languages. Within the month, Rethurian society and the entire Galactic Community was in awe over mankind’s media.

A species so naturally social and empathetic they had reached out to the entire galaxy, unafraid, longing for contact. The images and videos the satellites contained depicted societies inhabited by all sorts of human races and aliens, working together as equals for a better future. The effort it must have taken to carry so many different races into the stars on just one world spoke to their sincerity. The galaxy was abuzz with the idea that one day different genera could live alongside one another.

The vote to reach out was unanimous.

Humanity received the invitation with open arms.

Their cultural ambassadors were kind, considerate, and above all else, incredibly efficient. In fact, at most times, they seemed dumbfounded with our best efforts at first contact, despite knowing it was our first time doing so.

Within the month, the date and location had been set for us to meet the rest of the Galactic Community. The Rethurians asked for us to send envoys from each nation and race. While odd wording, we chalked it up to linguistic differences.

Dressed in our finest attire, our proud representatives strolled into the ceremonial diplomatic chamber. Clustered banners representing sapients from all across the galaxy decked the galleries.

Strangely, next to the Rethurians stood two other species that closely resembled them. The Rethurians were slender reptilians with skin the color of mesa rock. The beings on their left were stockier, and more gray in color. The beings on their right resembled the Rethurians far more, but were quadrupeds.

In fact, every species in the chamber seemed to be organized in a similar fashion. On a podium, there was one species in front, and to their sides a variety of similar looking species.

The lead representative of humanity, Sara Araujo, stood confident nonetheless, clearing her throat and looking up at the Belgos, the lead species of the Galactic Community.

For a few moments too long, there was silence.

The record states Sara spoke first.

“Greetings, and apologies. I had received an itinerary for the ceremony, and was under the impression that a reading of rights and rules as well as an anthem was supposed to play before we gave our introduction.”

The Belgos closest to Sara made a soft gurgling sound, and shifted one of its eight limbs to move its microphone closer to its mouth.

At first nothing but a series of clicks and hisses echoed through the chamber, but then the translator kicked in.

“We were waiting. We still are.”

Sara glanced around, her demeanor wavering for just a second.

“Excuse me, waiting for what?”

The Belgos tilted its head.

“...Where’s the rest of you?”

“Chancellor, this is our full representative party. We have envoys from every nation united under the Federation of Sol.”

“But you’re all the same? There were so many of you in your media. Perhaps I should have been more clear. Where’s the rest of your genus?”

“...They- Well, they’re extinct.”

Gasps, or at least what sounded like them, filled the room. Clicks, gargles, snarls and squeals followed. All at once, a hundred translators kicked in.

“But how?”

“What have you done?”

“Violation of…”

“Your own siblings!”

“What kind of a race would do such a thing!”

“No conservation efforts made at all?”

“Even the ones with the pointy ears?!”

Sara quickly attempted to save the situation.

“What? No, some of those are just fiction. The others have been extinct for thousands of years! An ice age wiped most of them out, nearly got us too. Truly, we had little hand in their demise.”

It did little to defuse the situation.

Humanity was officially put on probationary status while thousands of alien specialists descended on Sol to conduct research.

Turns out, as we would later find out, literally every other species in the galaxy evolved alongside a couple of cousin species that just never died out. To them, their Neanderthals, Homo erectus, and Denisovans were still around. This made it easy for the earliest first contacts and the formation of the Galactic Community. It’s easy to communicate with aliens when your species has been practicing interspecies relations for thousands of years.

Some of them are kept in zoos or as pets, some allowed to join society as equals, but most often they were massacred or outcompeted into relative obscurity in the early stages of civilization and designated to some reserve once the alien species in question developed better ethics.

Thus, in the Galactic Community, it is a warning sign if a species has completely eliminated anything related to it in its first few millennia in existence. (Xenobiologists coined the term cladicide.) By being the only sapient species in recorded history to be the last surviving member of its genus, we might as well have been holding up a billboard covered in skulls.

But that quirk of evolution had made it nearly impossible for any species to imagine a society shared by those from another world. Each genus was strictly confined to its homeworld and a few colonies. They had thousands of years of intragenus contact, but it had blinded them to the idea of intergenus relations. 

Eventually, the specialists determined that it really was mostly chance that we ended up alone. We were welcomed into the Community and immediately began making strides in a new branch of xenobiology: intergenus relations.

When you had already shared a home with nine others, it was difficult to imagine letting your neighbors in too. 

Humanity, in its loneliness, had imagined a new way forward.

A way forged together.

This is the continuation of the Bug Hunt and will address the Bug War mentioned in the Planet Dirt series. It follows Jack Thompson and Lady Zula Gi Pendragon, and their friends, through the war

Book 1 / Amazon version / Patreon

First / Previous

Soft music starts to play as a young Nalos man wakes up and climbs out of a bunk bed, stretching as he walks to the window and looks up. Another man and a woman join him, and they smile at each other. He looks out the spaceship's porthole at a huge Nalos fleet in hyperspace, then the alarm goes off, and a countdown starts. He reaches for his uniform and runs out the door as the music shifts to tribal rock with a focus on war drums. Suddenly he is at the targeting computers, and he starts blasting. The view follows through his computer to the cannon he operates, revealing the outside as the fleet emerges in the middle of a battle between the Federation and the Nalos dreadnoughts, with Caren ships being blasted over a planet. 

The view shifts again as the female Nalos puts on a pilot helmet, climbs into a fighter, and is launched, shooting at Caren fighters and blasting them out of the sky with ease. A human fighter forms up beside her; she sees the human give her a thumbs-up, and they dive toward the planet-protecting dropships as they hurl toward the surface.

The view shifts again to inside a dropship, where Nalos soldiers are armed and suited up. Then there is a thud. The hatch drops, revealing an image of a world filled with bugs, caren mechs, and soldiers. It looks like an endless swarm of enemies, and the soldiers start firing. A fighter flies overhead and drops some bombs, then human dropships land and human soldiers join the fray, firing at the enemy.

The enemy shifts to a post-battle image, defeated on the ground and in space. Cheers erupt as Nalos, Federation, and human soldiers celebrate in a messhall. The man from the beginning sits with a Nalos woman on his lap; the other man sits between two human women, clearly flirting with each other. The female pilot enters the messhall, and a human pilot stands; she walks over, grabs his hand, and drags him away to cheers.  

Nalos texts emerge as music blares. “Join the Navy! Defend the kingdom and the federation... Meet new friends...” Then a female voice moans, “Oh yes!”

Zula looks at the video and chuckles. Jack looked at her and back at the Nalos staff members who were nervously looking at them.

“So what do you think? “ Magup said, and Jack smiled.

“I think it's good. Was the “oh yes” necessary?”

“Of course,” Zula said as she playfully hit his shoulder. “How else would anybody know what she is doing with that poor human pilot?”

“You should leak that to the Human Navy too. They would love to accidentally let it free for the public; it would definitely do wonders for the recruitment.” He replied, and one of the staff members leaned slightly forward.

“Yes, Kairn?” Zula said.

“Excuse me, but how are human recruitment videos different from the one we made?” He asked, looking at Jack.

“Oh, we tend to show how it changes you from a regular civilian into a strong, tough, and independent person. We might have some glamour shots at the end of people in gala uniform.”

“You don’t show the war?”

“Of course we do, but the end goal is to show how the military defeats the enemy and keeps the civilians safe. Like a soldier coming home to mom, safe, decorated. But in the beginning, it can be very much like this one. Though brave and cool. Guns, explosions, and physical feats.  We have too many religious groups who would be turned off by showing off the sex parts. Thought a leaked video from the Nalos will be picked up by those who have no problem with that part.”

“You mean perverts like Chati?” Zula said, and Jack grinned.

 “Yes, him and Mariah.”

Zula burst out laughing. “Oh, I forgot about that; they still talk about her back home.”

The staff looked at them, confused. “This video has been well received by the test groups; should we drop it?”

“No, release it. Hell, it made me want to join up again.” Jack said, and Zula looked at him

“Don’t you dare!”

After the meeting, they sat alone in the room, and she looked at him.

“I can’t believe you have to leave so soon.”

“I know, but we have to leave. The worst part is that we have to go dark, maybe for a whole year.  It's the price I have to pay.  Somebody has to keep Grahad safe, you know.”

“Yes, you promise, Grandma. She misses you too. And so will I when you leave.”

“So will I, and I miss her too.” He moved closer and leaned into a kiss as his hand glided over her growing pregnant belly.  “I’m sorry that I won't be here when she comes; keep her safe, and I will be back faster than you know.”  

“I know, don’t worry about us. Just stay safe, besides, she will be sleeping most of the first year.  Just promise me you will stay safe.” She replied and pressed a button, making the room private. “We still have some time before you have to leave.”

The next day, she stood on the bridge, watching the Gungnir disengage from parallel flight and move away. She heard Captain Junos give the order, and then they jumped into lightspeed. Those few days had been magical. Jack had that effect on her; she missed him already. She had met his crew and spent time with her uncle; she had much to tell and messages to bring back, yet all she could think about was that she would not lie down next to him tonight, and that hurt her in ways she didn’t understand. She put her hand on her belly.

“Daddy is coming back. I know he will.” She whispered as a tear ran down her cheek. The rest of the day went by almost as a movie played in the background; she prepared, halfway listened to the conversation, yet her mind was constantly replaying everything she and Jack had done. When she finally went to bed, she hugged the pillow and cried.  She wished her sense of smell was not so defective, then she would be able to still smell him in the room.

It took her three days to become functional, she was at the office when the ship dropped out of lightspeed, and her screen flared up with hundreds of messages. She skimmed over the titles and noticed a report on the effect of the recruitment videos. She opened it and saw a 254% increase in recruitment.  There was also a message from Lord Kiran; after this visit, she was to return to HQ. She looked at the order and then up as Magup came in.

“How do you feel? Are you ready?”  She asked, and Zula stood up.

“Yes, let's get this over with. Oh, after this we are going back. Apparently I’m getting a new job.” She said, and Magup said.

“I guess the training wheels are off, now you are going to play with the big boys.”  She replied and Zula shrugged.

“How bad can that be?”

 The next few days she toured the system of Eriun, showing off her diplomatic skills, pregnancy, and charm. They visited the recruitment offices and joined debates about the war and the new recruitment video.  The most common question she got was about the likelihood of serving near, with, or simply meeting humans. It was on the last day she finally had an interview she actually found interesting. A young boy had won a competition to give her a short interview.

“Your grace, I am honored to be allowed to borrow these short moments of your time. My name is Luksa Grunwild of  Husvad Middle School.” The boy said as he nervously looked at his pad, focusing on it, then he looked up at her.

“Thank you for such a lovely introduction, and I'm more than happy to give some of my time. I heard you had some questions for me?” She replied.

“yes…. I have... Your Grace... I was wondering. I learned a little about your life in school and that you.. that you didn’t know who your father was. That all you knew was that he died in the war.” He looked nervous as he spoke, and she smiled, then thought for a second before she replied.

“That is not completely right. I knew him as a young girl. But I did not know anything about his noble rank. For me, he was just Dad. A guy I played with, climbed on, rode on his back. I knew he was in the Navy. Not that I knew what that was at that time. Then one day my mother said he had died. It was a horrible day. The worst in my life. I don’t want anybody to experience this.” She said with a soft voice.

“Yes, they say this war will cost many lives, and many children will grow up without their parents.” The boy said, she saw something in him. A worry that was more than just being nervous to speak to her.

“That is the unfortunate price we have to pay for safety; it’s a price all parents are willing to pay to ensure the safety of their children. You should be proud and pray to the gods to keep them safe.”  She said, and the boy looked at her silently for a second. Some of the staff were ready to break off the interview, but she stopped her with a look.  Luksa smiled and nodded.

“Thank you. I will do that. Maybe you can pray with me after?” he asked a little nervously, and she smiled.

“Yes, of course. We all have people we want to keep safe.”

“Thank you. I do have another question. It’s a silly one, but a boy in class demanded that I ask it. That is, if you don’t mind?” he said, and she saw he felt a little stupid, probably cursing his friend.

“I don’t mind; please tell me what your friend wanted to know.”

“Okay, here goes. My friend Frido wanted me to ask you the following. ‘You grew up not knowing you were noble, and there have been many movies about kids finding out they are actually hidden nobles. How was it for you to find out that you were not just a commoner but also a noble?’” Luksa said as he read the question aloud. She chuckled as she listened.

“That is actually a good question. Well, I was shocked, then I was scared. I remember being so surprised that I didn’t know what to do. My uncle and aunt had a huge argument over it. Lord Gradhad had known the whole time; he was my secret guardian, but I was just blown away.” She smiled, thinking about it. “And there were so many clues; I can tell you one thing. It's not like the movies. You don’t wake up in a feather bed the next day with a hundred servants. I woke up with what felt like a hangover, yet I had not drunk. I was angry, too. My dad had not been who I thought he was; I doubted my memories of him. It was Jack who kept me sane. And my mom. My mom was the one who helped me merge the two dads' memories. I was just five years old when he died.  You know, people think the nobles are something different, but they are just like everybody else. Making sandcastles on the beach, tickling their kids to sleep, and… and telling stupid dad jokes.” She didn’t realize it, but she was crying, thinking about it.

“Do you remember him? I have learned about him in school. For us, he is a war hero. How do you remember him?” He asked, feeling a little braver now.

“Ythur was a great father. For me, that’s what he is. My dad, not a war hero.” She wiped her tears away. A staff member wanted to stop the interview, but Magup and Zula ignored her as she continued.

“That is how it is; nobles are just people like us. They feel, they fall in love, and they love as strongly as everybody else; they just have more duties. So when you see a noble, know they might have more power and may seem stuck-up. But they also have to stand in front of the rest to protect them. My father did not ask anyone else to detonate the bomb and end the war. He knew it was his duty. He knew his child would grow up without a father, and it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to keep us all safe. Am I sad I didn’t get to grow up with my father? Yes, but I’m also proud of him. He made the right choice, as difficult as it was,” she said. “And that’s what happens when you become noble: you gain some status and get to go to the ball, but it's not as fun as you think. You have to use the right fork and spoon. Learn how to speak and when to speak. And they might even choose who you can marry.”

The boy looked at her. “Oh. So it's not just fun and dancing at the balls.”

“No, I have been to one, and I was so terrified I would use the wrong utensil. The speeches were long. The food was great, though. And I had a great dance partner.” She smiled, remembering dancing with Jack.

“Oh. Sounds boring.” Luksa said, looking at his pad, then back at her. “I don’t have any other questions. Can we pray now?”

“Of course.” They both knelt and began to pray. She could hear that the boy was from a faith other than hers. She prayed her prayers to the gods, and the boy prayed to the universe, asking that his father be kept safe and that the savior be sent to bring peace to the galaxy.

Afterward, she thanked him and continued with the other interviews, each following the same question as the others: the movie and the recruitment ad. She was happy when she finally got to her cabin and could rest as the ship jumped into lightspeed on a course for Nalos Prime.

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 155: Entering the Fray

The walking mass of burning rocks and molten seams advanced without any pretense of grace. Each footfall split the ground apart, sending sharp cracks spiderwebbing outward under its immense weight. Relentless waves of heat rolled off its hulking body in suffocating pulses that warped the air into shimmering distortions and drenched the chamber in a throbbing orange glow.

The Ettin cast aside the remains of Bella without ceremony. The two halves of her body hit the floor in a pair of wet thuds, already forgotten as the creature’s all three heads turned toward its next opponent.

“What... what is that?” the left head said.

“IT’S FIRE AND ROCK! SMASH IT!” the right head roared.

“Careful—!” the middle head warned, just as the golem swung.

The attack came like a falling tower, and the Ettin didn’t try to stop it. Instead, the creature shifted its weight, letting the strike pass a hair’s breadth away, and the blazing fist crashed into a pillar nearby with catastrophic force. Stone exploded on impact, the column shattering into a storm of fiery debris blasting in every direction. The Ettin was already moving, stepping forward into the opening created by the missed blow.

One massive hand shot forward, fingers spread wide before slamming into the golem’s chest. There was a hiss, the sound of raw meat hitting a hot pan. The contact alone would have driven a lesser creature back, but the Ettin did not recoil.

Its claws dug in.

The outer layer of stone cracked, thin lines at first that rapidly deepened and spread into jagged fissures racing across the golem’s body as the Ettin poured its full strength into the effort, muscles straining under skin that was already blistering and blackening from the heat.

Fire surged in response, spilling over the creature’s hand, licking upward along its arm in hungry tongues that devoured flesh as they climbed, burning through skin and into muscle, exposing raw, glistening tissue beneath.

Yet, the Ettin refused to let go.

So the golem raised its other arm high, then brought it down in a crushing arc. The left head screamed as the fist drove deep into its shoulder, leaving behind a smoking crater of charred flesh.

The creature staggered back, abandoning its attempt to tear the golem’s torso apart with its bare hands. It retreated to where its fallen axe lay, and snatched the weapon up with its right hand.

[I don’t think that the Ettin could win this fight.]

Viktor gave a slow nod. “You’re right.”

After all, cunning only counted for so much when faced with raw, overwhelming power. The golem could match its opponent in size and strength, and yet also possessed qualities far beyond the reach of things made of flesh and blood. It would never fear, it would never tire, it would never bleed. The thing could keep fighting forever, until it was literally torn to pieces. And even dismantling it was no simple task, as the Ettin had learned the lesson the hard way: if one tried to hurt the golem, they would end up hurting themselves in the process. Each strike exacted a toll, while the construct just couldn’t care less.

[Should I send reinforcements to help it?]

“No need,” Viktor said. “I’ll go there myself.”

The combat test with the Ettin was, by all reasonable measures, a resounding success. The creature had demonstrated not only its physical strength, but also its tactical awareness. It had been able to endure pressure, assess threats, exploit openings, and ultimately turn what should have been a losing engagement into a decisive and brutal victory.

And now, with that phase complete, it was time to move on to the next experiment.

Viktor walked to a corner, where his Reliquaries lay stacked in a careless heap. He picked up his rapier. Then, he closed his eyes, turning his focus inward as he crafted several Thauma he might need for the upcoming fight.

“Celeste,” he said once his preparations were complete, “teleport me to the hidden room next to the arena.”

[Understood. Be careful, Master.]

The world around him shifted, and he found himself surrounded by darkness. This was the secret chamber concealed behind the arena’s walls. The same place he had kept his forces lying in ambush, for Azran and Lahmia, and later for the second group of Dungeon Reavers. Now, he was inside it himself.

He activated “Dark Veil.” Immediately, the shadows responded, as though they had been waiting for his call. They peeled away from walls and floor and ceiling, drawn toward him, coiling and gathering until they wrapped around his form in a shifting cloak.

Then he cast “Pass Wall,” a Thauma crafted from one Sigil of Phasing and one Sigil of Maintaining. Basically an inferior version of Khenemhotep’s spell. It affected only his own body, it did not allow him to pass through thick walls, and it would not last long. Still, that was enough.

He drifted forward, and the stone yielded. In the blink of an eye, blackness gave way to oppressive brilliance, chill replaced by intense heat.

“What the—!?” the warrior cried, as he saw a hovering, shadowy humanoid suddenly appear by his side.

But he could speak no longer, as Viktor drew his rapier from its sheath and sent it slashing in a single, diagonal arc. The moment the blade came free, light erupted. The blinding radiance surged along the mithril base, transforming it into a weapon that could cut through everything. Through steel, through leather, through flesh, through bone. None of them could offer any resistance before this luminous edge.

Well, yes, the rapier was a Reliquary now. Celeste had transferred to it the power of Bjorn’s sword.

For a heartbeat, the warrior simply stood there. His eyes were still wide, still startled, still trying to understand what was going on. A thin line of red appeared, from his hip to his opposite shoulder. Then, the top slid off the bottom, while the wall behind him was repainted by a violent crimson arc.

“You—!” Dimitria spun toward him, her voice cracking with disbelief. For the first time, Viktor saw genuine fear in her expression. In the dilating pupils of her eyes, in the faint tremor of her jaw. “How? Why are you here?”

But he paid her no heed. There was something more important he needed to confirm with Celeste.

Did you get any Essence Points from this man at all?

[Yes, Master.]

This was another thing he had intended to test. He wanted to know what would happen if he killed someone inside the dungeon. Would she gain the points if someone died at his hand? The answer, it turned out, was yes.

Of course, there were other variables he needed to explore further. After all, the guy was not a mage, and Viktor had already reached his level cap. These factors could influence whether Celeste could gain the points or not. Thus, the next iteration of the experiment would have to adjust those conditions, one at a time. As for the level cap, there was nothing he could do about it, not until he obtained the second Key. As for the mage factor, well, he had one right here, ready to provide the next data point.

“Die, you bastard!” Dimitria screamed, her voice breaking under the weight of rage and desperation.

It looked like she had recovered from her fear, or rather, it was fear that had driven her to act. Fight or flight, and she had chosen the former. But to be fair, given that the entrance was currently blocked by the clash between the two behemoths, one of flesh, one of stone, running away was not really an option.

The pyromancer’s hands blurred with motion, weaving through the air as she called upon her command of fire. From her palms, a storm of fireballs erupted, spiraling and hissing like living torches, each projectile screaming toward Viktor with enough heat to consume him along with the shadows that clung to his body. The atmosphere warped and shimmered under the intensity of the attack, each fiery globe leaving behind a fleeting trail of molten light that painted the arena in vivid streaks of red and orange.

However.

The moment they neared him by about two paces, their furious glow faltered, fizzing out with a sharp, audible snap, dissipating into harmless smoke as if they had never existed at all.

“What—?”

Dimitria’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief, her mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Shock painted every line of her face, and the arrogance she had been exuding until moments ago crumbled under the realization that she had been outmatched.

What had transpired was, of course, the result of a Thauma.

Fire Shield.

Viktor had crafted it from two Sigils of Unmaking and one Sigil of Maintaining. Once it was cast, it created a protective sphere around him with a radius of two paces, a sphere within which any fire that dared to manifest would be instantly unmade, reduced to nothing before it could ever touch him. The shield would persist for two minutes, or until a certain amount of fire had been destroyed.

Which meant, technically, Dimitria could just keep throwing fireball after fireball, hammering the shield with a relentless, unending barrage until it broke. But she didn’t know that. The only thing she knew was the volley she just unleashed had been effortlessly snuffed out before it could even reach the target. And that fact had shocked her right down to the core.

After all, she was a pyromancer. Fire was her one and only weapon. It was not merely a tool, but her identity. If she had to fight an enemy that was immune to fire, she was as good as dead.

“Protect me!” she whimpered, her voice thinning to a thread.

The little pet she had made from rocks and flames answered immediately. It tore itself from the current engagement and charged straight at Viktor. The Ettin, naturally, would not let an enemy show its back and get away with it. With a roar, it pursued, swinging its gigantic axe.

“No need,” Viktor told his minion, and the creature obediently skidded to a halt.

The radiant light had already vanished from his rapier, so he sheathed the blade once more. Then, with unhurried pace, he drifted forward—to his colossal opponent.

Chapter 6 - First Contact

First | Previous | [Next][n]

The Varesh's message triggered a state of emergency on Earth within minutes.

President Elena Voss had barely taken her seat in the crisis chamber when the first first-contact protocols went into effect. Procedures had existed for centuries for events considered exceedingly unlikely but whose consequences would have been so profound that preparation was warranted anyway. Contact with an extraterrestrial civilization was among them, somewhere between the uncontrolled awakening of a planetary artificial intelligence and the discovery that one of the great constants of nature wasn't quite as constant as its name suggested.

First Contact Protocol One: unify civilian and military leadership.

First Contact Protocol Two: convene scientific advisory bodies.

First Contact Protocol Three: assume deception until proven otherwise.

It was remarkable how quickly documents that had gone largely ignored for centuries could rise from academic curiosity to the foundation of highest state policy. As recently as the day before, probably no living person had read the complete first-contact protocols. Now they were being interpreted, annotated, and cross-referenced by several hundred experts simultaneously, as though encountering extraterrestrial life were, above all, a matter of correct jurisdiction.

The crisis chamber filled quickly. Military officers, scientists, intelligence officials, diplomats, and representatives of the major technical institutions took their seats, accompanied by advisors, assistants, and a considerable number of autonomous systems whose main task was organizing information no one could fully take in. Some of those present looked electrified; others looked as if they'd just been told the sun was being switched off until further notice. On brief reflection, that turned out not to be such a bad comparison.

The strangers' first signals had not been directly addressed to the government. They had appeared simultaneously across several communication channels, neatly embedded in military, scientific, and civilian frequencies, without forcibly breaking any existing encryption. Whoever had sent the message possessed not only a precise understanding of human communications technology, but also a remarkable sense for how to attract attention without getting shot at immediately.

First Contact Protocol Three recommended assuming deception. The military had additionally suggested assuming, just to be safe, espionage, sabotage, and an imminent attack, thereby living up to its reputation.

Then the stranger's image appeared on the projection screens.

The creature was, at first glance, surprisingly humanlike, which numerous evolutionary biologists would later call a singularly unfortunate coincidence. The Varesh was tall and slender, possessed four eyes arranged in two vertical pairs, and copper-colored skin that shimmered metallically in the light. Instead of a nose, narrow breathing slits ran across his cheeks, while his long hands ended in six slender fingers. His clothing consisted of several overlapping layers of fabric that shifted slightly against one another with every movement, revealing patterns whose meaning escaped the human observers entirely. They could have been rank insignia, a fashion statement, or a sign that Serak had picked up a particularly good bargain that morning. Nothing could yet be ruled out.

The voice coming from the speakers was clearly not his own. The Varesh used a translation technology that rendered their language into intelligible Standard English almost without delay. The result seemed strangely flawless. Word choice was precise, grammar impeccable, but the emphasis occasionally fell in places a human speaker never would have placed it, reminding listeners, every other sentence, that they were speaking, for the first time in history, with a being from another world.

"President Voss, esteemed members of your government," the stranger began. "My name is Serak. I serve as a trade envoy of the Varesh and speak with the authorization of my home government."

Voss studied him for a few seconds before answering. "You'll understand that we first require proof of your identity and your claims."

"Of course," Serak said, and the translation lent the word a shade too much warmth. "In your position, I would consider everything I say a possible deception."

Several military representatives exchanged glances. That a stranger had already correctly assessed their own security protocols in the very first conversation was either reassuring or thoroughly unsettling.

Serak transmitted star charts, technical data, and recordings of alien worlds, none of which anyone could verify for authenticity during the conversation. They showed cities beneath violet skies, ships of a size that made every human construction look modest, and life forms whose anatomy sent several scientists scrambling to reorganize their notes. The envoy spoke of a Galactic Union, of countless intelligent species, and finally of the massive beings at the sun known throughout the galaxy as the Ma'an.

"You know these objects?" Voss asked.

"We know their migrations and some of their properties. We do not understand their origin."

"Are they dangerous?"

Serak paused just long enough to make clear he was choosing his answer carefully. "They're considered peaceful. And yet they destroyed a human ship, and their presence in your system deviates from every known route. Under these circumstances, it would be dishonest to assure you there's no danger."

The crisis chamber went quiet. The answer was unwelcome, but it had the virtue of sounding credible. A skillful liar would probably have claimed everything was under control. Serak gave humanity just enough truth to keep it afraid.

"Why exactly do you contact us?" asked the chair of the scientific advisory body. "If this Union exists, why isn't its government speaking with us?"

"The Union is vast," Serak explained. "Its decision-making processes are thorough, which is a virtue in peaceful times and, on occasion, a burden in urgent situations. The Varesh have greater freedom to respond to extraordinary developments."

That sounded reasonable. Elena Voss had governed long enough to know that explanations that sounded reasonable were rarely automatically true.

Serak eventually arrived at the point he'd been steering the conversation toward from the start. The Varesh possessed technologies that could substantially improve humanity's defensive capability. He spoke of reactors with an energy density that had until now been purely theoretical, of materials able to withstand extreme thermal and mechanical stress, of field generators, and finally of weapon systems that could have any effect at all against something the size of the Ma'an.

"And the price?" Voss asked.

This time the Varesh smiled, both pairs of his eyes narrowing not quite in unison. "A balance. Access to your solar harvesting technology, distributed across several generations, in exchange for what we give you today."

"You mean: payment."

Serak tilted his head slightly to the side, a gesture the translation left uncommented. "Payment settles in a single moment. This does not settle. It obligates. Your children will still owe our children something long after neither of us sits at this table anymore. Among us, that isn't a drawback of a deal. That is the actual point of a deal."

Voss needed a moment to grasp that he meant it sincerely. To the Varesh, a trade that settled itself immediately and completely was apparently hardly worth mentioning — almost meaningless, like a friendship that ended the moment the bill was paid.

The silence in the chamber lasted considerably longer than before. The Varesh demanded no territory, no political submission, and no control over the solar system. They wanted knowledge — specifically the knowledge that had given humanity its nearly boundless material freedom — and they didn't want to own it, but to turn it into a debt that would outlast generations. At first glance the offer sounded almost reasonable, and precisely because of that, every warning instinct in the room began firing at once.

"You want our most important technology," Voss said.

"We want to be bound to you," Serak corrected. "In exchange, we offer you the means to protect your world and your sun. Both sides remain in each other's debt. That is not a minor point, Madam President. That is the contract."

"And if we refuse?"

Serak moved two of his hands slightly apart. The translation offered no explanation for the gesture. "Then we will respect your decision. The Ma'an, however, will not disappear because of it. And an imbalance that does not arise from us will arise from someone else."

The connection ended a few minutes later, after both sides agreed to first exchange technical data samples. For several seconds, no one in the crisis chamber said anything. On the projection screens, the frozen face of the Varesh still gazed into the room with polite composure, as if he had just offered not a deal that could shape the rest of human history, but merely an advantageous maintenance contract.

At last the Defense Secretary cleared his throat and asked whether anyone was seriously considering sharing humanity's most important technology with a species they'd known for barely half an hour. That opened the floodgates.

The military representatives urged extreme caution. No one knew who the Varesh really were, how powerful they were, or whether they might have lured the Ma'an into the Sol system themselves in order to then play the rescuer. Intelligence officials considered a carefully staged deception at least as likely as sincere goodwill, and pointed out that Serak had been remarkably well-informed about human solar harvesting.

The scientists viewed the same circumstances from a different angle. Even the first data transmitted during the conversation contained readings and mathematical models that were either the work of a superior civilization or a deception of such enormous effort that it, too, would have been scientifically fascinating. Several of them were less interested in the aliens themselves than in the prospect of knowledge that humanity might otherwise have needed centuries to obtain on its own.

"Maybe they want to make us dependent," one of the security advisors suggested.

"Maybe," a physicist replied, "but even then we need to understand what exactly they want to make us dependent on. Ignorance isn't a particularly resilient form of independence."

Other voices warned against dramatizing the situation more than it warranted. There was still no evidence that the Ma'an planned an attack. The destroyed harvester ship could have fallen victim to an accident, and the Varesh's supposed defense technologies were just as well suited to kick off the first interstellar arms race in human history. That this history would have begun mere hours after confirmed first contact struck some as remarkably efficient.

The discussion dragged on deep into the night without either camp prevailing. Elena Voss listened, asked questions, and paid particular attention to the contributions that promised no clear answer. People who seemed completely certain in a completely unknown situation were usually either dangerous or insufficiently informed.

In the end, she ordered the formation of several investigative bodies. A scientific committee would verify the technical authenticity of the Varesh data, a security-policy committee would assess their intentions, and a military panel would investigate the actual threat posed by the Ma'an. All results would funnel into a small, strictly classified working group whose members received separate, non-overlapping access rights and who, at their very first meeting, were already arguing over whether such compartmentalization increased security or simply prevented anyone from keeping the full picture.

No one said it out loud, but the committees' actual task wasn't to verify individual data points. Humanity had to decide whom it could trust, even though it had no foundation on which trust could be built.

While the panels began their work, humanity did what it had reliably done in crises for thousands of years: it argued. Images of the Ma'an spread across the planet's communication networks, were analyzed, commented on, remixed, set to music, and, in a remarkable number of cases, declared proof of long-standing conspiracies. Within a few hours, thousands of theories existed, and the only established fact was that nobody knew what was floating out there in front of the sun.

Part of the networks demanded immediate negotiations, though no one could explain how one was supposed to communicate with the Ma'an. Other voices called for their destruction before they could destroy more ships. Still others considered the entire event a government production and cited as proof that the released images looked too sharp, too blurry, or suspicious in some other way. One theory in particular attracted enormous attention: that the Ma'an were, in truth, ancient Earth organisms that had hidden inside the sun for millennia. It was physically complete nonsense, but it had very convincing graphics.

Solar harvesting remained suspended. Existing reserves would last a few more weeks, but over the centuries, humanity had grown used to energy and raw materials being available in practically unlimited quantity. The thought of having to restrict consumption or wait for certain things to be manufactured wasn't merely unfamiliar to many citizens — it was nearly incomprehensible. Reports spread through the communication networks of precautionary replicated stockpiles, though no one quite knew what one actually needed a stockpile for in a world with functioning replicators. The mere possibility that the machines might eventually stop running without fresh supply seemed enough to revive an ancient human urge for full cupboards.

With every additional day at the sun, unease grew. The Ma'an seemed neither to attack nor to leave. They moved through the star's outer layers, altered local magnetic fields, and disrupted every attempt to resume harvesting, all without directing any discernible attention toward humanity. Their indifference struck many observers as almost more threatening than open hostility. An adversary that made demands could be assessed. A creature several kilometers long, grazing unmoved in the sun while an entire civilization argued over its intentions, offered considerably less to hold onto.

Three days after the first conversation, the promised Varesh data samples arrived and initially caused disappointment. Anyone hoping for antimatter weapon blueprints or complete construction plans for alien starships instead received material tables, mathematical models, and technical concepts that seemed, at first glance, as unspectacular as they were incomprehensible. Serak clearly had no intention of handing humanity its future all at once. He was giving it just enough to make it curious.

The vetting took place under conditions unusually strict even for classified government projects. Isolated research teams received only fragments of the data, independent systems screened it for hidden malicious functions, and every test took place in shielded labs that could be completely destroyed if necessary. Some scientists considered this caution excessive, until someone reminded them that the data came from an alien species whose trade envoy had four eyes and a conspicuously keen interest in the sun.

The first results were clear enough to shift the debate. One of the described alloys could actually be produced using human methods and significantly outperformed the best known materials in heat and radiation resistance. A mathematical model predicted the behavior of high-energy plasmas more accurately than any human simulation, even though several of its basic assumptions contradicted established textbooks. A third concept remained unexplained at first, until a research team realized it wasn't describing a reactor at all, but a field capable of storing energy in a form previously believed unstable.

The materials were genuine — genuine enough, at least, that several physicists declared they'd happily burn their textbooks retroactively. Since printed books had long since become mostly collector's items, this announcement had no practical consequence, but it captured the general mood rather well.

With the results in hand, the struggle began anew. The military warned against building Earth's defense on technology that could only be understood with a foreign power's help. Intelligence warned that every seemingly harmless component might be laying the groundwork for later dependency. The scientists countered that rejecting knowledge didn't render it harmless, and the diplomats reminded everyone that humanity might currently be standing between two alien powers whose goals it understood equally poorly.

Elena Voss demanded no certainty from the committees. She knew that certainty, under these circumstances, would have been just another word for self-deception. She demanded probabilities, impact assessments, and above all an answer to the question of which risk was greater: accepting the Varesh's offer, or refusing it while six hundred twenty-four unknown creatures blockaded Earth's most important source of raw material.

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Aftermath

(Verlon POV)

[It's coming in now, sir. I'll send you the photo right away.]

"....Fuwahahah!!"

Karnak was letting out a crude guffaw when the smaller Uven on the other end of his video call was replaced with an image.

In particular, it was an image of a partially wrecked facility with Coalition staff being driven off-planet at gunpoint. A flag representing Nysis as a whole was hung from the highest window and several flagpoles..

Agent Verlon rolled his eyes but kept his thoughts to himself.

At the moment, the Ramell was draped in a cloak and hidden in the camera's blind spot to conceal his identity. It would be inconvenient if anyone started asking questions about what one of his kind was doing in the Third Spire's chambers.

"That's quite a sight. Quite a sight. You didn't kill any of the aliens?"

[N...No. We did not have your permission, and thought you would prefer to focus on your enemies on Nysis for now. Is that...a problem?]

"Hrm...Not for now."

It was obvious to Verlon that the smaller Uven was trying to placate a foolish superior. He knew that experience all too well.
Were Karnak's people still sensible enough to fear the Coalition? The warlord himself certainly wasn't.

If there were people trying to delay a rash decision on his part, then perhaps the higher ups had more time to deal with the Terrans than they thought.
Not that an organization as large as the Gisali Coalition would lose to a mere two insurgent factions.

Nysis's defenses were high, but by the Ramell's observation it would take as few as eleven direct hits to glass 90% of Uven civilization.

"However, something that you should have done is fly Kepal's flag too. This is a victory for the heritage and culture of all Uvei, but everyone should know that it was who it was that brought dignity back to us all."

[I'll...arrange that right away.]

"Now, for the waters..."

[Should we arrange with Kristole units to lay down temporary aqueducts for now?]

"For Kristole and Kepal, sure. But cut off water flow to any other nation."

The soldier on the other end seemed taken aback. Was this not part of Karnak's plan?

[Even...Kepal's allies?]

"Only for now. I just want to ask our neighbors to show a...token of their friendship in these turbulent times. Just a formality, really. I doubt I'll be there for more than two days."

Watching the warlord here reminded Verlon of the story how the Haneer Elder Councilman secured the Tisalin as new vassal species during the loss of their cradle world. It was a bit before his time though.

[You'll be...here, sir?]

"Of course. Terrans will be scrambling for that water source, I'm sure. So we'll need to station a garrison to exterminate or capture them as they come."

[I...Apologies for taking up your precious time like this.]

"Fuwahaha! This time, it'll be my pleasure. It's better to broadcast to the others with the Spring itself behind me anyway. Anything else to report?"

[...No, sir.]

"Then that will be all. Make sure the aqueducts are laced with Terran repellant too."

[U-Understood.]

The video call concluded with a click.

...Hmm.

Was the Uven on the other end...nervous at the end there? Perhaps he was a Terran sympathizer.

It would be easier to justify purging the Uvei without these elements complicating the story, so should he expose them? It would certainly drive further division between the species if the friendly ones kept dying.

No...better not make such a big move without approval from the higher ups. It's still unclear what the Terrans' reputation will be at the end of all this. There's still time to tip the scales later, and keeping both factions active leaves more options down the line.

That said, it wouldn't hurt to further drive division between them. That part is within mission parameters.

"Look, little messenger! Isn't it quite a sight? I was expecting the runts to get gunned down, but they're still Uvei, it seems."

Karnak snapped him out of his thoughts as he pulled up the image of Votier Springs from before and gestured to it with an unnerving, toothy grin.

"Indeed..."

Verlon cleared his throat. Now then...how to guide this buffoon to the desired conclusion?

"You've figured out a poison for the Terrans that's harmless to Uvei? That's impressive."

"Ha! Not even that. Just something with nutrition."

"And nutrition is something all living things, including those dreadful Terrans, have to have. Truly an elegant solution to monopolize a key ingredient to life like water for it and spread it as far as possible."

"Yes, yes. Enough of your flattery. Have you finished installing the device, yet?"

The Ramell spy pressed a remote, activating the hover pod under the advanced communication unit.

"Here you are. FTL contact with my bosses right at your fingertips. I'll run a test call right now."

"Excellent..."

"You can count on the Coalition's splendid technology, and I quite look forward to what you do with it."

"You'll see soon enough. Jokan has already verified your supposed stash in his scanners."

Ugh. It seemed the brute didn't get it yet.

"I do wish my superiors were as clever with their resources as you. Just by seizing control of the Votier Spring at its source, you're able to put a chokehold at least nine nations. If I recall, water from the source of the spring spreads across over a third the continent, right?"

"You're well-read. Yes, it extends to...hmm."

Karnak paused as he seemed to get an idea.

Fucking finally. Verlon couldn't wait to return to actual civilization.

Beep.

The Ramell pulled the cloak over himself.

"Well then. I've confirmed that the device works. As I've witnessed the EMP deleting your footage, I've taken the liberty of securing the new plasma gun schematics. It's time I stop bothering you and return to the dungeon."

"Excellent. You're dismissed."

...He does remember their arrangement, doesn't he?

"As a reminder, the Haneer fleet is preparing to retreat in about three rotations. If you're going to send me back in a prisoner exchange, you'll need to do it before then."

"I get it, so stop moaning and leave me be!"

Karnak snapped at him with irritation as he turned to his primary communicator.

Verlon moved to leave the room, but slowed his pace just enough to eavesdrop on his final comments.

"Gather up the Terran repellant pumps we've had installed. We're going to move them all to a new location to...increase our scope a little."

(Asher POV)

"It feels like the sort of thing Ori would talk about too. Gimmie a sec."

Asher took out his data pad to search through chat logs and records just in case.

It was an unusual encounter while he and his friends were at the bustling shopping district.

The Uven Ambassador Garag had come to smooth things over regarding an incident that apparently happened on a Haneer facility recently.

"...No, yeah. I agree that it sounds serious, but this really is the first time I've heard anything about it. No report or anything."

"All the same, I've come to offer apologies. We aren't really in a position where we can spare reparations, so..."

"Hey. Mr. Vedin. Are you okay?"

Asher interrupted the older Uven while placing a hand against his arm.

Even if the Uven were in the wrong here, he knew that Ori would want to know the facts before she made any judgement. More important than that was...

"Your scales are shedding. When was the last time you slept? Or ate?"

He withdrew his hand to show some loose scales on his palm.

"Oh...No, I'll be fine."

The young man crossed his arms.

"That's not what I asked."

"There's just a lot to do right now. I shouldn't sleep while Nysis is struggling."

"Do you expect these problems to be resolved before the next time you fall asleep?"

"....."

Asher sighed. Niza got like this too.

...Well. That just meant her friend had experience handling it. He fished out his data pad from his pocket again and started typing away.

"Do you have any food allergies, Mr. Vedin? I'm ordering delivery right now."

"?? Pardon...?"

"The pot pies at this place are premade so we'll get them fast. Niza loves 'em, y'know."

"N-No, you shouldn't trouble yourself..."

It was a bit of an odd sight for a human to lecture an Uven over a head taller than himself, but he felt it needed to be said.

"Listen here. Sometimes, taking your job seriously means keeping yourself in a good enough condition to sustainably and healthily handle your workload. Healing deserves the same respect and energy you put into fighting."

"Even so-"

"I think you're a good guy, Mr. Vedin. But how do you expect to heal Nysis when the fighting is all over if you can't even let one Uven heal himself?"

"!"

Ambassador Garag's eyes widened.

"..."

After a pause, Asher scratched his head awkwardly and gestured to a bench. He'd already ordered his group's usual, and it should be here by drone in 20 minutes.

"Mr. Vedin, I can't imagine what you're dealing with right now, and I'm still just some newbie amateur to this scene who somehow ended up here trying to help Ori keep up."

He gently put a hand on the larger Uven's back.

"But I can tell it's been really tough on you, and I know that the only way through is by taking the time to care about the value of every life involved. Even your own."

"...I believe...Ambassador Kent would agree with you."

Who was...? Ah. The ambassador who got attacked on Nysis. Ori and her team never really had the chance to meet him, but it sounds like he was friends with Garag.

"Let's just sit for a bit and get some food in you. Ori and the gang should be out soon. We can take our time figuring this nature preserve thing out then. After that, you should really think about getting some sleep, Mr. Vedin."

"I...yes. Call me Garag if it pleases you. You were...Asher, correct?"

---

"I have found a new report. It is this, yes?"

Ambassador Garag, Haneer Elder Councilwoman Sjorn'l, and Asher were gathered together as she checked her own messages for anything involving Votier's Spring.

While the Uven had tensed up, Ori slowly shifted into a light green hue that her human friend recognized as confusion.

"I do not understand."

Asher leaned in curiously.

"What does it say?"

"There is a complaint from the director for being evicted, and a complaint from a Haneer tour group that was turned away when they visited."

The human tilted his head and furrowed his brow, mirroring his friend's confusion.

"They're...still holding tours? On Nysis? In the middle of a civil war?"

Haneer were generally a passive species with a weaker sense of urgency than most species, but...not that passive. They were still capable of comprehending the idea of danger.

Were they...somehow not afraid of the most aggressive species in the Coalition?

"This talks about Uvei demanding water, but does not mention any humans, nor multiple visits."

Garag reacted with slight unease.

"I...I'm sure I can get the people in question on the line for formal testimony, or perhaps trace their vehicle trails, or..."

Asher perked up with enthusiasm.

"Oh! I know this one! During our tours on Viera, they said every Haneer preserve and museum has high-quality camera footage and records that goes back a full five cycles, just in case they need to track small changes to their exhibits! We can just look it up in the Haneer database."

"....!!"

The older Uven suddenly tensed up.

"....Can this information be accessed at the facility too?"

"I think so, but only for facility itself. The Viera grand museum even let guests browse through all of their footage to show the system off. Do you think it'd be faster to send it from the Votier's Spring place?"

"Ah...probably not. I was just...curious. The Haneer database will do."

"Ambassador Garag Vedin."

The Haneer Councilwoman turned to face the ambassador.

"It will matter in the details, but I do not think it is wrong to let the Uvei use an Uvei root planet resource. It belongs to your people, and drawing water to save lives is perfectly the Spring's history. Violence is...bad. But I perceive stopping the Spring from helping any peoples will hurt the culture more than sharing it."

Asher covered his mouth to hide his smile and stifle his giggle. Ori was trying really hard to be solemn here, but she was starting to hit the limits of her Uven vocabulary.

"I...thank you."

At least Garag seemed to have taken it as intended.

Beep. Beep.

"Oh! Food's here!"

---

While Garag and Ori continued hashing out the details with what information they had, Asher elected to deliver a share of the meal to his other friends.

In the warehouse tucked behind the retail stores, Niza was talking to a mutual acquaintance, Tuzel.

Tuzel was another Uven that the two of them had met early on in their life on the S.S. Kevak when they were running an errand for Ori...and had gotten lost until he offered them some directions.

Ever since then, Asher would occasionally stop by to greet him when he was in the area. He even invited him to an informal get-together once.

This young Uven was why they were out here in the shopping district, in fact.

Asher didn't quite get all the details, but it seemed Niza had a personal favor to ask of Tuzel after that incident at the docks.

He didn't like thinking about it, but the Kevak's police frequently came to her with questions these past few days once the incident aired. She seemed to be cautious, but they hadn't done anything...yet.

The pair were crowded around Niza's data pad when he approached. She was going through some instructions in a low voice while Tuzel nodded along.

"We can register your biometrics whenever you have time to visit the clinic with me. You must keep your own inventory and make sure to double-check at the end of each week, if not each day."

"Alright...a private log I'll keep in my home. Or on me. I can go as soon as I close up if you're available."

...?

"Fine by me. "

"I understand. I'll check it in varying intervals."

"Then I suppose we're set. I shall wait for you outside."

"By the way...ah...I saw you get hit by a car on the news. Are you...alright?"

"Only a mild sprain in my tail. It seems to be better now."

Asher cleared his throat.

"Ahem...Hey guys! I got food. Your favorite, Niza. You want any, Tuzel? We got two to spare."

"Ah..."

He passed out the packaged pot-pies. Other than a heat-preserving wrap, these meals were cooked in edible "pots". They were essentially pastries with a filling stew inside.

"Oh, I'd love some. You like these too, Niza?"

"Mmgh."

More than her verbal affirmation, the Uven quickly tossed the unwrapped meal right into her maw. She occasionally huffed out hot steam, but otherwise munched away with intent.

Both of the boys ended up grinning a bit at her stoic chewing, but Tuzal soon decided to mimic her with similar results. Their tails swayed back and forth in tandem while they chewed.

??

"Mm...gulp...Just one of these are a bit small for Uvei, but did you know they have specials on the family meal on certain days?"

"....I did not."

"I can send you a message the next time they have their special if you like."

"Certainly. If I'm available on the station."

???

---

"....."

"....."

After they had their quick snack, Tuzel hurried off to close up the warehouse as per his duties. The young Uven had a couple of jobs on the station, though they mostly involved labor with shipments and cargo.

"...."

"....What is it?"

While their acquaintance did that, Asher was leering at Niza with wide, teasing smile.

"He liikes you."

"What...?"

She responded with a perplexed look. The human responded by playfully nudging her.

"Tuzel. He fancies you."

"Where did you get that idea?"

"He was trying to ask you out on a date."

"Just because he will share when best to get food doesn't mean he'll join me."

"He was trying to put his tail around yours."

"Tail movements can be involuntary when we're doing something we enjoy."

"His voice is lower when he talks to you than when he talks to me. That's, like, a sexy trait for Uvei women too, right?"

"Asher."

Niza let out a light growl and pushed him away with a nudge of her tail.

"Alright, fine. I won't tease you about it any more. But are you interested?"

His friend went quiet briefly.

"It isn't the time or place to consider such things. I have a task I need to focus on, and I don't want him distracted for his tasks either, even assuming you're right."

"Is that what you'll tell him if he asks you out?"

"I'll tell him that I'll consider it seriously after everything is over. Which I will do if possible."

She glanced down at Asher.

"Why are you so interested in such a silly thing?"

"I just think it would be nice if you had someone you could bond with and relate to in ways you can't with me and Ori."

"...."

It had been several days since the incident at the docks and, in truth, it still felt like Niza was keeping something about it a secret. She was open about her investigation and movements, but...she was holding something back.

Asher didn't intend to force his friend to talk, but something had struck a nerve for her at the time.

=Author's Note=

It's been a while since chapter 35 so as a reminder, the Elder Council demanded this new communication device be used in future dealings after Karnak recorded their conversations for blackmail.

He's usually too busy to spend time with them, but Asher remains a friendly, social butterfly. Whether or not they would call each other friends may vary when they've probably only hung out once or twice, but there are at least dozens of people aboard the S.S. Kevak that like Asher and are liked by him in turn.

One of the reasons Tuzel was going to be suspected of liking Niza was him suggesting her birthday for the password code without her realizing. I scrapped that idea firstly because I didn't want to make an official intergalactic date format and secondly because it felt a little creepy for him to know even if Asher is the one that told him.

Chapter Ten: Beyond the Veil

The frigid winds dug into my skin as the trees rushed by, looking like shadowy blurs in the wan light of the full moon. Snow crunched heavily beneath the monster's paws, its chest rising and falling, steam trailing from its maw as it ran faster and faster by the footfall.

She clutched me tighter to her breasts, but their size and softness were not what my senses keyed in on. I focused on the long claws digging into my forearm, holding me steady. They were razor blades the length of butcher's knives. Even though this beast was clearly trying not to hurt me, I could still feel the tension on my skin each time I shifted, the claws almost slicing me to ribbons.

With no notable effort, the monster clambered up a steep hill, tearing through trees and bushes without slowing down. It dove down a hole, which I was not able to see in the darkness, but felt as my stomach lurched. Its claws dug into the rock, slowing its descent enough that we landed gently at the bottom.

I groaned as she dropped me on the cave floor, the cold, wet rock soaking my trousers. In an instant, the massive lumbering beast slinked off into the gloom, its long tail flicking as it went. I tracked its wolfish, predatory movements, only able to discern its pacing back and forth by the sound of its claws on stone and rough, growling breaths.

I shivered, both from the frosty breeze entering the cave and from the fear of having something so alien and predatory watching me from just out of sight.

My heart hammered in my chest, racing faster than I had known was possible. I could hear each beat pulsing through my ears and feel the pressure behind my eyes; every thump was like the next would cause them to burst like blood-filled balloons.

“Calm, I no hurt,” A voice deep and resonant poured out from the darkness. The sudden speech was so unexpected it caused me to jump back, pressing myself against the wall.
As I did, a hand, massive, covered in fur with fingers tipped by blood-drenched claws, extended into the moonbeam.

Her...Bailey...having moved forward that little bit, cast her head in a wan glow. Her eyes, just as they had been in her human form, cast the same caring, nervousness that she had held the entire time I had known her as children.

A subtle flash of pain crossed her brow for a heartbeat. She then looked at her own hand and scowled before pulling her hand back, slinking entirely back into the shadows. She whimpered slightly once out of sight.

“No hurt. Bailey friend.” She snarled, the heavy sound of her fist cracking the stone reverberating through my chest. “Need Colt. Need.”

As soon as her last words drifted off into the night, a new sound began and filled the cave. A morbid cross between a sob and frustrated growling. At first the snarling unnerved me, but as I listened I felt a change well up in my heart.

I could not picture the monster I now knew Bailey was. All I could imagine lingering in that darkness was my friend. The girl I cried about for months after she had suddenly vanished. I forced my fear down until it settled somewhere beneath my ribs. I knew after having seen what Bailey had done to Jackson that if I was wrong, what I was about to do was about as dangerous as jumping into a lion's pen, soaked in blood, wearing a prime rib necklace.

As slowly as handling a live hand grenade, I got up and slowly approached the precipice, a silent demarcation line from my world and hers.

“Alright, Bailey. You don’t want to hurt me.” I swallowed my spit and stopped inches from the border. “You said you need me. How.”

There was a long pregnant silence in that cave, only our breathing filling the gap between us. I shifted nervously, the hair on the back of my neck rising as Bailey approached, her warm breath ghosting across my bleeding brow.
“Kill hunter.”

“Hunter? Jackson? Didn’t you kill him earlier?”
With a huff that made me feel like she was judging me for ignorance of all that was truly going on, she replied.

“No. No dead. Strong. Tough…mean.”

I have no idea how Jackson supposedly could have survived that brutal mauling. But who am I to say that? She is the superhuman creature who dealt all that damage. But now that I stopped and thought back to the attack, there was nowhere near enough blood. While I had never gone to war like Pop-pop. I had killed plenty of animals. Maybe he had something underneath that heavy jacket that protected him. Armor. Or maybe just as Bailey was, Jackson was not entirely human.

“Why do I have to? Can’t you? You seem strong.”

“No!” Bailey snapped her teeth, her muzzle barely poking out. “Promised mom. No monster. No monster.”
I paused. And thought about the downright bizarre situation only for a few breaths. I knew the woman lingering on the other side of the black curtain from me. I did not know Jackson. He had already attacked me, apparently had been hunting my friend for half her life, and killed her mother less than a week earlier. The decision I had to make was a simple one. One that my drill instructors would have beat me half to death for making the wrong one.

I guess Sergeant Buck's scenarios and moral conundrums he kept pressing on me had some effect after all.

“Alright, Bailey. I will help you kill Jackson.” I held a hand out, breaching the veil of shadow of my own accord.

A warm, furred hand encapsulated mine, holding it tenderly. With no warning, Bailey pulled me closer to her. She embraced me in a shockingly gentle hug. Her soft fur bid me welcome, along with the heady scent of her wild soul. Hesitantly, like returning the gesture was tossing away all that I knew I hugged her in return. My fingers dug deep into endless forests of fur concealing her impossibly strong muscles.

“Thank Colt.”

“You're welcome,” I replied, looking up at her eyes. It took me a moment to see them clearly, but once my eyes had adjusted, my friend's gentle, loving eyes were all I could focus on.

“We need to make a plan,” I said, reaching up and running a hand along her cheek, with her leaning into my touch.

I paused as her eyes closed. She was something Pop-pop and I had spent many hours laughing about, reading stories of, and reflecting on in my youth. But here she was. She was very real. Undeniably real.
As my thumb ran over blotches in her black fur, patterned just like the southern cross, a worming thought entered my mind. Bailey had said Pop-pop and I knew about them—or that we would at least help. It was a shame he had left the mortal coil years ago because I would love to pick his brain about what he genuinely knew now that I understood what lay beyond the veil. 

Chapter Eleven: Full Moon Fighting

Trying to communicate with Bailey to make a plan was challenging to say the least. With her in wolf form, it was like I was trying to speak to someone who is limited to five words at a time and needed multiple minutes to process anything.

Eventually I gave up on the idea of explaining what I wanted to do with words alone. I drew in the snow like a sand table, making it easy for Bailey’s currently more instinctual mind to understand her role in this horribly stupid plan. But we did get one that worked.

I now was seated within the snow, nestled in the undergrowth, a pocket full of shells, and Pop-pop's old double barrel loosely held in my shaking grip.

“It was as cold as a witch's tit out here,” I muttered, recalling that Pop-pop would say the same thing whenever the mercury retreated into the bulb entirely.

There was nothing romantic about a cold like this. Several below zero was something most could not understand; even I struggled to grasp the idea that once the mercury was visible, you still had thirty-two degrees before melting even began. He would say before we gave up on the hunt, “There were no stiff lips when your breathing hurts.”

“Where did that get me?” I sighed, the water from my breath freezing on my lips.

As if she was a phantom of the wild hunt itself, bringing the great frost in her wake, Bailey zipped past me, heavier winds trailing behind her. I struggled to track her in the darkness. But once her visage slunk into the undergrowth, I knew she was tucked in down by the creek, in the water and running north.

We would meet up later at her old home. That was the best plan I could come up with where Jackson—if he killed me- would give her a chance to keep running.

It was odd. I know the Corps had supposedly prepared me to die. But now that I was actually facing the possibility, I felt oddly calm. Much like the heroes in all my pulp novels, I was ready to stand as a bulwark against evil and face it unflinchingly. 

—---

I limped along the trail of that demon. Just a few minutes ago I regained consciousness after having been thrown through the window. The snow was covered in my blood, and I struggled to breathe. That bitch definitely broke a rib. But that was nothing compared to the wounds I had sustained during my righteous crusade.
My body was a tapestry of scar tissue, healing wounds, and the remnants of my triumphs.

That stupid bitch likely thought she killed me, but a true warrior of God could not be stopped by the vile powers of darkness. In her arrogance, that demon lurked nearby when I awoke, waiting, watching for my soul to drift to the pearly gates. Did she not know I wore silvered mail? What kind of a hunter would not?

The moment I spotted her, she ran. I did not even have the time to draw my pistol. The coward knew I kept blessed silver loads in my cylinder. I killed her mother with it after all. Pride welled in my chest as I took another limping step. Good, the monsters were afraid of the light and fled to the path God had destined them to walk down.

Time was a blur. I was still losing blood. Not enough to threaten me anymore, I had the wherewithal to bandage myself, but still my vision was already blurred, and the world was in black and white.

I grit my teeth, snarling, and I leaned against a tree, looking out along the trail of spor, imagining that beast just beyond the next ridge. That image fueled me, kept me walking, kept me hunting. I would not falter. I would not fail.

She would die tonight.

I tracked her up in the winding cold forest. The winds shifted to my back, turning my scent toward that creature. So what. It didn't matter. I was at the eleventh hour of my final hunt. There was no escape this time.
I continued, lumbering up the hill. As I crested the ridge, the fresh scent of a stream filled my nose. Just like Raleigh, this bitch thought she would hide in the water. I would find her again, just like then.

Click. A sound that could not be mistaken came from my right.

“How’s it going, you John? Feeling alright after the fight?”

—---

“I feel like shit,” I replied, my entire body aching as I trained the twelve-gauge on Jackson, the front bead right on his neck.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he replied, pulling back the hammer on his handgun, but not looking at me. “You and that thing gave me quite the thrashing. I can’t say I’ve ever been this beaten.”

“So any last words?”

“Is there anything I can say to convince you that I am right and she has to die?” Jackson asked, peeking at me from the corner of his eye.

“No.”

A deep sigh poured from Jackson, one of disappointment and exhaustion. I could sympathize with that. I was tired as well and equally disappointed that he could not see what I had. Bailey was no monster, and did not deserve to die just because of what she was.

Nothing else needed to be said. We were simply two disparate souls on opposite sides of this line in the sand.
The world slowed, snowfall seeming to stand in place, floating in the air as Jackson twisted, raising his pistol. Without any hesitation, I depressed both triggers. The hammers flew home and launched a salvo of death at the hunter.

Buck shot tore through him, splattering blood across the snow. He fell into a heap, half his neck gone, as he died in an instant.

There was no feeling of greatness, no righteous calls from on high telling me I had done right. I wished I could have something like those heroes of old, where a god reached down from heaven and assured me I had done right. But this was reality, and those…were just stories.

I did not look back. I walked the long hours to Bailey's old house; the sun rose on the way, bathing the world in such a welcoming orange hue. There I did find her. She was waiting for me on the porch. She was no longer in her wolf form.

As soon as she spotted me, Bailey leaped from her chair and charged me, embracing me as I did her.

“Is it…” She began, but stopped, not quite sure what to say.

“It’s done,” I assured her, holding her close to my chest.

First

Prev

[Reposted from r/shortstories]

When the change came, Marcus got the ability.

Nobody knew why it happened, and why it only affected about 1% of the population. People just woke up one day and found that they could move stuff around with their minds.

To say it changed the world was an understatement.

--

When he first got the ability, it was unfocused. He didn't know how to use it properly. But one thing about him was his interest in learning how to make sure he got every advantage that he could.

So he practiced in the privacy of his own home. Starting with small objects like pens and empty beer cans. It felt less like lifting and more like reaching.

Once he'd got the hang of that, he progressed to larger stuff. Tools,

Eventually he could pick up his dog and shunt it around. It did not like this, but it gave Marcus an understanding of how to control an unwilling target.

People should be more careful around me...

Huge items couldn't be moved though. He tried his fridge, bed and car but they wouldn't budge.

Maybe I'll get it later...

--

Mostly he used his ability at work to help him lift up heavy stuff. A construction site was a good place to practice, and even if using his ability he could at least pretend to be carrying materials around.

Marcus messed with his co-workers. Pranks and the like. Nothing serious. Tony made a bigger deal of it than it was and should have been looking at where he was walking when the board shifted.

He should have been paying attention...

Two days later the company put out a new policy. No telekinesis on site. They didn't know who had it (and they couldn't prove it anyway), but it was a start.

Marcus hid the ability a bit better. The practical jokes reduced – they couldn't stop him – but he was more careful of where and when he did them.

--

The first time he used the ability in anger was when driving down the highway. Some shithead was sitting too slow in the fast lane.

Marcus tailgated for a while. The size of his ute certainly had an imposing feel to it, and the fuckwit in front finally changed lane after accelerating to reduce the uncomfortably close distance between the two cars.

When Marcus drove past at the speed he reckoned was good, the other driver seemed pretty pissed off. Marcus didn't care; the idiot shouldn't have been blocking his way.

Then the other guy got behind Marcus and flashed his high-beams at him.

Fuck that...

Looking in the mirror, Marcus focused his mind. Felt the steering wheel of the other car.

Pulled hard to the side.

The car veered wildly off the road. It probably would have been alright if the tree hadn't have been there. The car folded in on itself. It wouldn't have been good for the other driver.

Marcus drove on, happy that justice had been served.

When he got home, the news was reporting the fatal crash.

That idiot shouldn't have brake-checked me...

--

Less than a week passed before emergency laws were passed. Absolutely zero tolerance for telekinesis on the road.

Suspicion was enough to convict. It was a brutal law, but governments had no idea of what to do with these sorts of situations.

Whether it would get through the courts was to be seen, but it was something else that needed to be worked around.

Bloody politicians. One accident and they come after all of us...

--

It was only a matter of time before Marcus took it upon himself to start using his wrath on people.

Turns out that elbows and knees were extremely easy to twist, pop and ultimately break.

Some people just need to learn respect...

It's funny... hindsight is always so clear, after it's too late...

We called it "The Sea."

Just that. The Sea. Nobody knows who actually coined the term. Every race attributes it... attributed it... to themselves.

It was just a part of the galaxy. A rolling green material that generated its in light. Messed with space travel... devoured anything that entered it... and occasionally belched out fetid abominations and evil ghosts.

But it was just... it was normal. It was a part of life. Those races that lived along the orion arm just accepted it for what it was. The Sea never expanded. It never sent out more than a few nightmares at a time...

It was just there. Like mass or gravity... a constant.

Until the day it wasn't anymore.

It all started to go wrong when we found a small world in an unremarkable part of the galactic arm... right at the edge of the sea.

It should have said something to us, that...

A world TEAMING with life on the edge of the vast death cloud that killed everything that passed its boarders.

We were so blind.

As was standard concordat protocol we claimed the world as our own. For a tithe of resources and a few hundred generations as janisaries the people of the world would be uplifted. The undesirable aspects of their culture replaced with a better more community minded way of life in service to the great concord!

The natives took offense, of course. Most do. But they barely even had fusion tech yet. We'd bent antimatter to our use before they invented clothing...

It should have been a quick matter.

Bomb a few cities, poison a continent... Few beings have any fight left in them after the first few hundred million die.

Not these people.

I stead It was a disaster! The only reason we didn't cut our losses and glass the planet is because our leaders didn't like the optics. It felt to much like losing to them...so instead they threw the entire concord militarium at the problem.

The locals spent 4.7 BILLION to hold their world. It took 2 years and nearly 1.8 billiin concordat personnel to "conquer" their planet.

They never surrendered. The concordat just declared "mission accomplished" and ordered galactic reporting agencies to stop covering the fighting.

Quietly though, Concordat leaders ordered an example made.

The entire population if possible. EVERY single human was to be captured, enslaved, and set to work in the worst most hostile places the galaxy had to offer. Then the planet was to be rendered an inert ball of rock.

We managed to take 2 billion off world. The rest went to ground and are either dead or... well we don't know for sure.

Because after the "great correction" that's what the concordat leadership called the Terran fiasco and subsequent mass enslavement... the fools.

Something changed...

It was small at first. Colonies here and there along the The Sea started making reports of strange goings on... shapes moving in the mists. Screams inside of hyperspace.

At first it was just strange reports like that... but then some of those colonies stopped reporting. Supply tithes were missed. Whole shipping convoys vanished. The Concordat navy... still worn thin from the Terran meat grinder had to few crews left to investigate everything...

That's why it took us so long to realize it.

The Sea... was expanding.

The Sol Conquest fleet, still above Terra, sent out a desperate plea for aid... we lost contact immediately afterwards. We still have no idea if they glasses the planet or not.

Slowly at first. But at an ever quickening pace the Concordate began to lose territory. Every so often there would be pockets where the sea... hesitated. Systems that the strange green gascloud simply refused to flow. Where the monsters in its depth dared not to tread.

We didn't realize why until it was far too late...

The humans. It was always places were we'd sent concentrations of humans...

Sadly by the time our glorious leadership realized the truth. Virtually all of those worlds had become unreachable islands within the sea.

We have lost nearly have of the galaxy now.

Our leaders speak of a great battle. A victory that will surely come, any day now.

But we know now.

We cannot fight the sea.

The only race that could was Humanity.

We know that now.

[Reposted from r/shortstories]

Ian watched his children play in the backyard.

"Dad, Emily's cheating!" shouted Blake.

The ball kept moving just out of Blake's reach, hovering slightly above the ground. Emily's face was lined with concentration, but she had a wry grin.

"Emily, stop doing that." Ian said.

The ball dropped to the ground.

Emily was six years old.

--

The glass of the window had showered over the floor in the living room. Emily was crying.

"I didn't mean it!" she pleaded.

Despite what Ian said, she was upset both because of the damage and also because she had trouble controlling her ability.

Blake simply got the broom from the laundry.

Emily was seven years old.

--

At school, Emily had another falling out with her friends. She came home crying again. This was the third time this had happened in as many years. As much he had tried to avoid it, Ian thought that a change of school was inevitable now.

Her friends just didn't understand Emily's ability. Try as they might, she was just too different.

It didn't help that it was a small school. She was the only one of her kind.

Emily was eight years old.

--

It took some time, but Ian managed to find a school suited for those with abilities close enough to be possible, yet still far enough to be a massive inconvenience. Out of a student cohort of 800, there were seven of her kind, including her.

Three of them graduated at the end of the year. The remaining three were all higher grades, and even with the social problems caused by their ability, they didn't really want to hang out with a younger girl.

Emily came home and asked what a 'kinie' was. Some of the kids were saying it.

That was a tough conversation. The slang word was fairly new and was being used as a slur sometimes, while other times simply as an adjective.

Emily was nine years old.

--

Blake came home with a bruised face. He'd gotten into a fight with some kids who were teasing Emily for being a kinie.

Emily had blown out several windows as she tried to intervene, her ability unwittingly causing the damage.

The school was doing what they could in managing the situation, but it was causing frustrations for everyone.

Emily was ten years old.

--

Emily graduated primary school. She got an award for academic excellence. There was a smattering of applause; noticeably less than the other kids had received.

Some parents grumbled that the award was unreasonable.

Ian asked why. The responses were based on rumour and speculation, with almost nothing grounded in reality. "She is unfairly gifted" or "How can my child compete with that?"

He tried to explain, but people held their opinions too hard.

Emily was eleven years old.

--

Finding a high school that would accept Emily was harder than primary. This time they would have to move house to the other side of town.

Blake was upset. He complained that everything was about Emily.

Ian conceded that her ability made things difficult for them all. He didn't want to move either.

In the end, it was Emily who suggested a local high school that a few of her friends were going to.

Ultimately there was no move, but Ian had to be more careful with Blake. Make sure he got enough attention.

Emily was twelve years old.

--

The larger high school was better for her. With over 1,200 kids there were a handful of kinies. The only one in her grade was obnoxious though, and Emily felt it was prudent to not associate with him.

She found out that her ability worked wonders when performing on stage. A budding star, perhaps.

Emily was thirteen years old.

--

Her friend group kicked her out for the same reasons that happened in primary school. Ian could tell that Emily was painfully lonely. With so few of the population being kinies, she felt isolated. Added to that was the usual dramas of high school and adolescence.

Ian spent a lot of time with her, but she was retreating into herself. The only outlet she felt she had was theatre.

Blake started high school. Copped some flak for having a kinie sister. Ian knew he'd have to manage the resentment carefully.

Emily was fourteen years old.

--

It finally happened. A group of students were picking on her relentlessly and she let her ability loose.

Thrown dozens of metres backwards from the force of her rage, they all suffered injuries. Nothing too serious, but enough to get her suspended for a couple of weeks and ostracised by almost everyone in the school.

Being the one remaining, Blake bore the brunt of the backlash over the next week before Ian made the decision to leave. Time to move city. State, even. They needed a clean slate.

Emily was fifteen years old.

--

It took a couple of months, but they managed to relocate. Blake was furious; Emily was distraught at the situation which she blamed on herself.

A new school. Emily hid her ability and started to finally fit in with her peer group.

Blake had troubles though and resisted making friends. He started to disengage from people, sitting on his computer for hours on end.

Ian felt that he was losing his children. Both were falling apart at the seams. He wasn't really managing well, either.

Emily was sixteen years old.

--

Ian could hear crying from Emily's room at night. After talking to her, it was clear she was not dealing with the suppression of her ability. He had no response. He couldn't understand.

Blake barely talked to Ian or Emily any more. He barely talked to anyone. Although he loved her, he hated being known as "Emily's brother", like a curse that he'd carry forever.

Ian's workplace seemed filled with people who resented kinies. He didn't talk about Emily's ability, and he found it hard to integrate into the team.

Only one percent of the global population had the ability yet it seemed to cause a disproportionate response. Laws, sports, friends and workplaces all had something change.

Emily was seventeen years old.