An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

Background
The sequence of events in ASOS in the Riverlands is masterful. Not really anything new, but I just love the fact that all of this happened in such a short period of time.
#1 The Brotherhood catches Arya Stark to ransom to Lady Catelyn/King Robb at the Twins
After fleeing Harrenhal Arya is caught by the Brotherhood:

"Little one," Greenbeard answered, "a peasant may skin a common squirrel for his pot, but if he finds a gold squirrel in his tree he takes it to his lord, or he will wish he did."
"I'm not a squirrel," Arya insisted."
"You are." Greenbeard laughed. "A little gold squirrel who's off to see the lightning lord, whether she wills it or not. He'll know what's to be done with you. I'll wager he sends you back to your lady mother, just as you wish." -ASOS, Arya III

and:

"Your brother may be gone," said Thoros. "Your mother as well. I did not see them in the flames. This wedding the old one spoke of, a wedding on the Twins . . . she has her own ways of knowing things, that one. The weirwoods whisper in her ear when she sleeps. If she says your mother is gone to the Twins . . ." -ASOS, Arya VIII

#2 The Brotherhood catches The Hound
One thing that is interesting here is that Cat also set Jaime free and this chapter (Arya V occurs a few chapters after Jaime III, (which also occurs in the area):

"Have they caught the Kingslayer?" Gendry wanted to know.
Down in the square, a thrown stone caught the captive on the cheek, turning his head. Not the Kingslayer, Arya thought, when she saw his face. The gods had heard her prayers after all. -ASOS, Arya V

#3 The Brotherhood frees The Hound
After defeating/killing Lord Beric in his trial by combat, Sandor is set free:

Lord Beric shook his head. "Clegane won his life beneath the hollow hill. I will not rob him of it."
"My lord is wise," Thoros told the others. "Brothers, a trial by battle is a holy thing. You heard me ask R'hllor to take a hand, and you saw his fiery finger snap Lord Beric's sword, just as he was about to make an end of it. The Lord of Light is not yet done with Joffrey's Hound, it would seem." -ASOS, Arya VII

#4 The Hound steals Arya Stark from The Brotherhood
Arya tries to run away and she thinks she is caught by a member of the BwB:

"You're hurting me," she said, twisting in his grasp. "Let go, I was going to go back, I . . ."
"Back?" Sandor Clegane's laughter was iron scraping over stone. "Bugger that, wolf girl. You're mine." He needed only one hand to yank her off her feet and drag her kicking toward his waiting horse. The cold rain lashed them both and washed away her shouts, and all that Arya could think of was the question he had asked her. Do you know what dogs do to wolves? -ASOS, Arya VIII

#5 The Hound wants to ransom Arya to Lady Catelyn/King Robb at the Twins
Similar to the BwB, the Hound intends the same thing:

"Stupid blind little wolf bitch." His voice was rough and hard as an iron rasp. "Bugger Joffrey, bugger the queen, and bugger that twisted little gargoyle she calls a brother. I'm done with their city, done with their Kingsguard, done with Lannisters. What's a dog to do with lions, I ask you?" He reached for his waterskin, took a long pull. As he wiped his mouth, he offered the skin to Arya and said, "The river was the Trident, girl. The Trident, not the Blackwater. Make the map in your head, if you can. On the morrow we should reach the kingsroad. We'll make good time after that, straight up to the Twins. It's going to be me who hands you over to that mother of yours. Not the noble lightning lord or that flaming fraud of a priest, the monster." He grinned at the look on her face. "You think your outlaw friends are the only ones can smell a ransom? Dondarrion took my gold, so I took you. You're worth twice what they stole from me, I'd say. Maybe even more if I sold you back to the Lannisters like you fear, but I won't. Even a dog gets tired of being kicked. If this Young Wolf has the wits the gods gave a toad, he'll make me a lordling and beg me to enter his service. He needs me, though he may not know it yet. Maybe I'll even kill Gregor for him, he'd like that." -ASOS, Arya IX

#6 The Hound "saves" Arya from running into the Red Wedding and dying
Arya tries to run into the Red Wedding to save her family:

Arya spun away from him and darted for the gate. The portcullis was coming down, but slowly. I have to run faster. The mud slowed her, though, and then the water. Run fast as a wolf. The drawbridge had begun to lift, the water running off it in a sheet, the mud falling in heavy clots. Faster. She heard loud splashing and looked back to see Stranger pounding after her, sending up gouts of water with every stride. She saw the longaxe too, still wet with blood and brains. And Arya ran. Not for her brother now, not even for her mother, but for herself. She ran faster than she had ever run before, her head down and her feet churning up the river, she ran from him as Mycah must have run. His axe took her in the back of the head. -ASOS, Arya XI

and:

"Did you hit her with an axe too?"
"I hit you with the flat of the axe, you stupid little bitch. If I'd hit you with the blade there'd still be chunks of your head floating down the Green Fork. Now shut your bloody mouth. If I had any sense I'd give you to the silent sisters. They cut the tongues out of girls who talk too much." -ASOS, Arya XII

#7 Arya (Nymeria) drags Cat's body from the Green Fork while she is with The Hound
During one of her wolf dreams:

She splashed noisily through the shallows and threw herself into the deeper water, her legs churning. The current was strong but she was stronger. She swam, following her nose. The river smells were rich and wet, but those were not the smells that pulled her. She paddled after the sharp red whisper of cold blood, the sweet cloying stench of death. She chased them as she had often chased a red deer through the trees, and in the end she ran them down, and her jaw closed around a pale white arm. She shook it to make it move, but there was only death and blood in her mouth. By now she was tiring, and it was all she could do to pull the body back to shore. As she dragged it up the muddy bank, one of her little brothers came prowling, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She had to snarl to drive him off, or else he would have fed. Only then did she stop to shake the water from her fur. The white thing lay facedown in the mud, her dead flesh wrinkled and pale, cold blood trickling from her throat. Rise, she thought. Rise and eat and run with us. -ASOS, Arya XII

#8 The Brotherhood resurrects Cat and inform her that her daughter is alive and they lost her

"She is," said Thoros of Myr. "The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And . . . she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose." -AFFC, Brienne VIII

#9 Lady Stoneheart has the Brotherhood interviewing Freys about The Hound/Arya's whereabouts before killing them

“The Red Wedding?” Merrett’s skull felt as if it were about to split, but he did his best to recall. There had been so much confusion, but surely someone would have mentioned Joffrey’s dog sniffing round the Twins. “He wasn’t in the castle. Not at the main feast … he might have been at the bastard feast, or in the camps, but … no, someone would have said …”
“He would have had a child with him,” said the singer. “A skinny girl, about ten. Or perhaps a boy the same age.”
“I don’t think so,” said Merrett. “Not that I knew.”
“No? Ah, that’s a pity. Well, up you go.” -ASOS, Epilogue

#10 The Brotherhood/Lady Stoneheart start tracking down the different people/groups that have interacted with Arya/The Hound
This is somewhat in tandem with #9:

The outlaw gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, as it happens, we’re looking for a dog that ran away.”
“A dog?” Merrett was lost. “What kind of dog?”
“He answers to the name Sandor Clegane. Thoros says he was making for the Twins. We found the ferrymen who took him across the Trident, and the poor sod he robbed on the kingsroad. Did you see him at the wedding, perchance?”
“The Red Wedding?” Merrett’s skull felt as if it were about to split, but he did his best to recall. There had been so much confusion, but surely someone would have mentioned Joffrey’s dog sniffing round the Twins. “He wasn’t in the castle. Not at the main feast … he might have been at the bastard feast, or in the camps, but … no, someone would have said …” “He would have had a child with him,” said the singer. “A skinny girl, about ten. Or perhaps a boy the same age.”
“I don’t think so,” said Merrett. “Not that I knew.”
“No? Ah, that’s a pity. Well, up you go.” -ASOS, Epilogue

If interested: Lady Stoneheart: The Culmination of Numerous Riverland Plotlines
TLDR: Nothing new, just an example of how GRRM does a great job of interweaving different stories together and also that Lady Stoneheart isn't solely focused on killing. She knows her daughter is alive and has been actively searching for her.

Little Ball of Rage (Six Rocks, Chapter 45)
"The female of the species is deadlier than the male."
-Rudyard Kipling-
Gettret had followed Michael into the madness, matching his posture and speed to the best of her abilities, their movement abated only momentarily as Michael shouted something to another person over the gunfire. She watched Michael look back and turned to see what had caught his attention. The older man was carrying a younger man on his back, one leg of the younger man was missing and a piece of fabric held in place by a stick woven through the fabric was drenched in blood.
Gettret turned away and tried to will her stomach not to release its contents, and to her surprise Michael had already moved a good distance away. She shot forward, still remembering to keep low, and had started to gain on Michael when her foot came into contact with something beneather her and her view of Michael was lost as the dry red dirt crashed into her face.
Clearing her eyes, Gettret tried to see if Michael was still close, but he had disappeared into the dust and smoke. Alone and scared inbetween two combatant forces, she tried to make herself as small of a target as possible before moving her feet to see if she was caught. Her toes met something hard and cold, kicking it out from under her and she moved to look at what had gotten in her way. The weapon was familiar, Billy Sagebrush had one hanging on the wall at his ranch. He had even demonstrated how to use the weapon to her and Te'yal a few weeks ago, even allowing each of them to fire it for themselves.
Being unarmed and Michael nowhere in sight, she reached out with her hand but the weapon was just.out of reach. She rotated herself, trying to become one with the red dirt beneath her, and made one more attempt to grab the weapon. The barrel felt cool and only comfortable in her hands and she snatched the gun close to her, but that comfort was replaced instantly by fear as a claw slammed down where the weapon had just been.
"You'll fetch a nice price." The voice above her said. "Be a good little Rhodten and don't move."
Gettret couldn't see what was happening, but she knew the Scorpid was arching its back, stinger poised to strike her. Images of her life with Michael flooded her mind. Her first night with Michael on D'nfar, his warmth when when he snuggled up to her, the way he would always be cooking something for her when she woke up, and how she found a new way to fall in love with him almost every day. He would come for her wouldn't he?
"NOOOOOO!"
The Scorpid was already planning how he would spend his money when his tail lashed out only to find hard red dirt where the Rhodten had been cowering. She was fast, and his claws were busy cutting down and knocking away the humans who had attacked. Those that died would feed them on the long voyage to the slave markets where the ones that lived would make them a nice profit for all of them, but this little Rhodten was going to be his own personal little money maker. The Rhodten was still prone and had only rolled just out of his strike, but it would only take a moment to readjust his aim and deliver the blow that would pacify her. His tail tore free from the ground and his back arched up for another attack when time slowed around him.
Gettret didn't know if the weapon was loaded and didn't want to take a chance, but the dirt that erupted where she had just been might prevent the weapon from from discharging. She placed her finger gently on the trigger, her other hand firmly on the wood beneath the magazine and the butt of the weapon dug uncomfortably into her shoulder. The Scorpid seemed to towered above her, preparing for another strike and there was no time left for what ifs. Michael's name escaped her lips as she squeezed the trigger. The recoil threatened to bury her shoulder in the dirt as a deafening roar erupted from the barrel of the weapon. Smoke and small gouts of flame erupted from the barrel launching a one ounce slug of Metal at her attacker. Her aim had gone wild and she began to charge the shotgun hoping the distraction was enough to get off just one more round.
The slug she had discharged had other ideas, and it would not fail in its task as it raced forward through the near point blank space between Rhodten and Scorpid, unyielding in its path. For the briefest of moments it met the carapace just under and to the right of the Scorpids left eye before boring its way through exoskeleton and soft tissue to erupt again out the back of the creatures head spewing flesh, carapace and blood in its wake like a macabre storm of gore. The scorpid lost all control of its muscles as its life was ripped from it, and it collapsed in a heap of dead flesh as it's own brain rained down around it.
Gettret, still in shock from the full fury of her first kill, lay on the ground dumbfounded as her fur soaked up the blood that fell over her. The pain in her shoulder proved that she was still alive and that the scorpid had not landed a hit on her. She wiped her eyes to clear her vision leaving several blue streaks across her face. Her baptism of fire had been witnessed by at least a dozen humans who looked at her with absolute respect in their eyes before returning their attention to the still raging battle.
"Grazzt." Gettret breathed.
Reality struck her like a truck and she began to scan the area for Michael. She couldn't figure out how long it had been since they had become separated, but she knew him intimately and knew what he would be after. She located the ramp that would lead her inside the vessel and exploded into a streak of fur along the ground, dodging humans and unleashing another round through the stinger of another scorpid that had made the mistake of existing in her way.
As she closed on the ramp she could see several people lining the ramp as a flood of humans were ushered down and to safety in the trees along the ridge. She heard explosions from inside the vessel and prepared for the worst. She launched herself over the flood of people running to safety, turned in mid air, and reached out for anything that her foot could touch. A metal bar that was used to fix the ramp in the upward position landed itself to her and she rocketed into the storage bay, still being emptied of its captured human cargo. In front of her she caught site of her quarry as Michael ascended some steps in the lead of several other humans just beyond where she had aimed to land. She came to a stop for the briefest of minutes, ejected the spent shell and replacing it with another, and shot off in the direction Michael had went.

First Previous Wiki
Fleet Commander Annabelle Weber raised the shields of the dreadnaught as she approached. All across the Alliance Defense Fleet's mental network, psychic amplifiers were activated in tandem with shields. Thousands of small bubbles surrounded the soldiers and crews in the mindscape while Annabelle herself donned a mental device meant to strengthen her even more. It had been delivered directly by Brey herself in a massive expenditure of energy and likely was another classified project.
This far out, Annabelle had less access than usual. There was also less contact with Phoebe than usual, likely due to politics. But out here, that didn't matter. All that mattered were her crews, her ships, and her soldiers. Past that, the Cawlarians. Tenrah's fleet had started to move away from her, as the Admiral drew most of the fire from Siran's fleets.
Meanwhile, Annabelle and the Battle Planner were working on the planet crackers. There were five of them, luckily out of position by a few scouting attacks that had been sent against them a few hours prior. It had helped to ensure Annabelle and the Battle Planner wouldn't get wiped by the beams before even entering the battlefield.
They'd been deployed faster than expected. Phoebe's sabotage drones hadn't been able to destroy them quickly enough before being detected. The capability was unexpected, but it wasn't entirely implausible. She hadn't told the Heptarchies anything of the war plans, and neither had Phoebe or Tenrah. And the Battle Planner had almost no contact with them after their constant disparagement of his religion.
He'd gotten over it, though, and was stable. Hundreds of thousands of mine sweeper vessels, little more than drones with massive but flimsy shields, started moving forward. They cleared any stealth mines, antimatter pockets, and any other natural surprises that waited for them. The planet crackers themselves loomed large in the distance, but only through the optical sensors.
The battle would take a long time, and Siran's forces were being hit by a large portion of a second fleet. The Cawlarians had suddenly pulled off border patrol for a pincer attack. It risked the Heptarchy invading, but Annabelle couldn't stop that.
If Kawtyahtnakal had made the decision, he had plans in place. It wasn't a question. Annabelle checked the vectors, the networks, and the inventories of her fleet again. Everything was nearly at 100%, with only the FTL fuel reserves somewhat lower. Luckily, hydrogen compression wasn't exactly difficult in the modern age. Specialized interfaces told Annabelle that several smaller fleets of the High Kingdom were closing in, but they wouldn't arrive before they were already in the thick of battle.
Explosions rippled on the distant shield fronts of the mine sweeper drones. Corrosive acids and even smaller cutting drones came out, along with several heavy magnetic field bursts. Many of the drones were disabled, but the Battle Planner's strategy had paid off. His fleet took almost no damage, and only a few dozen cruisers and frigates were even hit. They shrugged off the damage easily, though they did pull back from the front of the formation.
The fleets had adopted a design that allowed for easy repositioning and retreat. It took tactics similar to the old British musket lines, only for actual ships instead of people. The caveat to that was only small ships could really turn quickly enough for the strategy to be effective. Their broadside guns, less capable than the dorsal and spinal guns but still powerful in their own right, also helped with maintaining the barrage of fire pouring down on the thick shields that were rapidly spinning up around the planet crackers.
Several ships filled with explosives and absolutely covered in heavy metals zoomed into the system from outside the battle. Annabelle could only track them by calculations. The ships themselves were empty of crew, with only a few androids piloting them. Phoebe's suicide vessels were ships that had been towed by Alcubierre drives, emerging from the bent bubbles in such a fashion that they had a massive relative velocity to 'normal' space.
In fact, thanks to some very complicated effects, they had been accelerated to a very close percentage of the speed of light. But in a space battle, the speed of light was still somewhat slow. Even with the presence of tens of thousands of overlapping Q-comms suppression fields, the Kingdom put up a good defense. Invisible ships detonated in front of the attacks, their own versions of speeding space drives detonating in a violent and bright fashion, creating ruins in reality.
Through those broken holes, stars glimmered, twinking uncontrollably. Bright lasers erupted from the side barrels of the planet crackers, taking sweeping passes over the attacking fleets. Thanks to the multiple trajectories, the planet crackers themselves couldn't easily focus their power. Hours later, as lasers and fighters darted across the system, and metal and flame spewed from red-hot barrels on both sides, the first shot hit.
A planet cracker aligned with the center of Annabelle's fleet. Its massive beam charged, sending warning readings across every sensor she had. Charon-class guns fired on the planet cracker, but its shields still hadn't opened. Annabelle started dipping the dreadnaught down, traveling at an oblique angle as the superweapon charged.
All the dreadnaughts in the battle were trying to avoid the planet crackers' fields of fire, but the massive guns were moving far faster than they should have been capable of. Whoever was in charge of them was truly desperate, which was dangerous.
She shouted her orders. The captains did their best, relaying them down the ranks. They pushed their ships beyond their limits. Cruisers groaned. Battlecruisers creaked. Dreadnaughts strained. But one ship, not close enough to the shield to avoid the rotating planet cracker nearest to Annabelle, was unable to escape.
Annabelle blinked away the tears in her eyes watching as the dreadnaught tried to engage its FTL drive, but the opposing fields from the planet crackers blocked it. The ship fired its main guns eight times in five seconds before the weapon split apart. The extra thrust gave it a boost, but it still wasn't enough. Everyone on that ship was about to die, and they all knew it.
Annabelle had done what she could. Now, the rest of the fleet would be in danger if she didn't act soon. She finally unlinked all the fleet's shields, having them pull them back to limit the impact the weapon could deliver. The codes thankfully managed to get through the interference in the battle, though she'd had to resort to laser communications to do it. Some of the ships had already dropped away from the combined fleet's shield.
Even the planet crackers could only damage what they could hit. With her fleet spread so far, the thick beam couldn't destroy them all. And there was proper warning with the Q-comms relays in place for instant communication. The light from the planet cracker wouldn't be fast enough on its own to warn them before it had already fired.
But it still fired. The impossibly bright beam burned out sensors that hadn't shut in time. Shields were overloaded in an instant. A violent undertow in speeding space accompanied the thick laser, allowing the FTL nature of it even despite the suppression fields in place. Past a certain threshold, they could do nothing.
The hivemind took over Annabelle's mind. The thousands of humans on the Coordinator were separated from the network to prevent a far worse fate from befalling the rest. Gravitational waves radiated from the beam along with a physical heat so strong it would have fried Annabelle to plasma from a hundred thousand miles away.
Space dust, scattered asteroids, and the shields of ships all glowed like stars. The unprotected matter became plasma, and a thick ring of plasma puffed out around the planet cracker's barrel, the residue left from the reaction that had created the devastating attack.
It was not just a physical effect, either. In the mindscape, a section winked out of reality, warping so violently with energy as to kill anyone inside. Stone sheared and calved away into a new dimension, caving in and through itself, shields, and people in the process. Light and space bent and collapsed in a relatively straight line. Thousands of people she'd served with for years were wiped out, their minds obliterated as effectively as they could have been.
And then the reality of the mindscape imposed itself, and the line split into smaller things and shapes beyond calculation or understanding. Minds visible beneath the shields of the planet cracker became hidden once again, as Phoebe pulled back her assault briefly to prevent damage to her mind. The hivemind withdrew into its constituent parts, so that the remnants weren't dragged into oblivion.
With Annabelle acting as a hivemind node, the hivemind deciding to remain would have killed her instantly. Her mind would have been smashed into the rock so violently it would have cracked the local layer of the mindscape, possibly killing everyone in the star system.
Meanwhile, the FTL beam continued moving. 182 light minutes separated the planet cracker from the Coordinator. Typically, speeding space FTL was anywhere between 52 to 3000 times faster than light. But speeding space, when it acted on a planet cracker beam, only served to accelerate its speed forever. The last warning from the hivemind had been sent.
13 seconds later, the beam itself impacted the dreadnaught Annabelle was using to remotely coordinate the fleet. The Coordinator was one of the newer and more heavily shielded dreadnaughts that had come from the Mercury shipyards. But no matter how much protection it had, a direct hit from a planet cracker was beyond its capabilities.
The beam atomized the dreadnaught entirely, along with four battlecruisers that were inside the beam that was several kilometers wide. The bright glow vanished in an instant, and the beam kept going, as it would do forever until it struck a planet, moon, or star. The glowing innards of the planet cracker suddenly sputtered with damage. Several attacks had managed to slip through the open shield as the planet cracker fired. They were followed by bullets, decoy drop pods, and actual drop pods. Just as expected.
It was a grim exchange, one which chilled Annabelle's heart to the core. In the military, losses were expected. But that never made them any easier. Doubt crept into her mind, and she harnessed her grief and pain to grind it into the stone of the mindscape. Her soul ached with the reality of what she'd caused, but she pulled the hivemind from its node and gave it an order.
A second later, her grief was quarantined and sequestered appropriately, where it would no longer impede her ability to command. She would spare the tears and the emotions for when they could be allowed. A gap in the defenses needed to be exploited.
The Coordinator's destruction had allowed Annabelle to take out the planet cracker with a shot from her dreadnaught's side guns. She couldn't use the main gun due to the angle and the risk of causing irreparable damage or an explosion she couldn't escape.
It could be easily repaired, but not quickly. The capacitor cell had been hit. Annabelle took the opportunity to assess the battle, as well as keep an eye on the defending forces. The remaining Kingdom battlecruisers and destroyers were fighting on, but they were a footnote in the battle. FTL suppression and multi-vector attacks kept them from being able to escape.
The Alliance hammered on them hard, breaking their shields, cracking their hulls, and detonating their reactors. Every few minutes, there would be another explosion out in the void as fighters and frigates took down the shields of another enemy. Her dreadnaught took care of the battlecruisers while her battlecruisers and cruisers hunted and corralled the smaller ships.
Without the power of numbers on their side, the Kingdom's defenses were already caving in. All that remained were the planet crackers, locked out of FTL by the strongest fields Annabelle could manage. Had her ship been hit, they could have freed a few. But it had not been. The Coordinator's ultimate sacrifice, terrible as it was, still enabled her to win the battle.
Several fighters strafed the inner defenses along with faster frigates. Dreedeen pilots spun and looped around inferior defense vessels.
Phoebe's missiles and lasers targeted the planet cracker's own laser defenses with pinpoint accuracy. Nuclear detonations rippled across the thick bulk of the planet cracker, but it shrugged off the barrage easily. More shields were flaring into existence, but it was too late to prevent Phoebe from landing roughly twenty thousand androids and five hundred commando androids on the ship.
Fighters fell apart, releasing more androids hidden within their wings and hulls. Several frigates fell to pieces, disgorging hundreds more androids. They flooded the planet cracker's nearest airlocks. Thermite Throwers spewed their searing power into the thick locks. More detonations rippled across them as Phoebe worked on taking out the airlocks.
Thick gouts of air rushed out of the planet cracker, though comparatively small compared to the actual size of the massive gun. Annabelle continued to move her fleet closer to the planet cracker, still watching as Phoebe's disposable androids swarmed through the now broken airlocks and set more Thermite Throwers on blast doors, sealing their entrances. The battle proceeded for more grueling and stressful hours.
The Battle Planner captured two more planet crackers, taking hundreds of thousands of losses in ships and borders for each of them. Phoebe broke through to the engine and control rooms of the planet cracker she was invading, finding it all destroyed. With the defenses neutralized and the defenders being routed, a new carrier was brought in.
It was a ship dedicated to bringing technological marvels to the frontline. Androids hauled thick cables from the ship, dragging them through the hallways of the planet cracker. Phoebe eventually plugged them into the broken remains of the computers in the control and engine rooms.
"Done," the android next to Annabelle said. "I'll have the planet crackers ready in a few hours for firing. I've captured around 40,000 personnel."
"Thank you, Phoebe," Annabelle said.
"You are welcome. Excellent work."
She'd already offered condolences for the deaths. Morale was low, having lost a dreadnaught, and there was no need to lower it. All Annabelle could do was commend those who'd fallen in the line of duty, protecting the lives of innocents by capturing weapons capable of destroying entire worlds.
Annabelle's second prong of the attack, along with the Battle Planner's third and fifth prongs, hit the fourth planet cracker, swarming it with attacks. The shield never opened for it to fire, but that didn't matter. An Arsenal Asteroid smashed into the planet cracker's shield at 99.6% of the speed of light when its barrel aligned with Annabelle's dreadnaught. It was too slow to properly evade at this distance, and both of them knew it. The weapon was starting to charge its gun.
It hit at an oblique angle to avoid destroying the valuable target entirely. When it impacted, a nova of light erupted in a halo rising from the shield, which flickered several times. And then it went out.
15 trillion gigaton explosions tended to be damaging to shields. Even the massive shield of the planet cracker, equipped with all the power of a planetary shield inside a few dozens of miles in radius, was unable to stand up to that. Though it almost had, somehow.
Annabelle had nearly died. Luckily, the planet cracker fired prematurely, so its beam didn't carry the apocalyptic power in its entirety. It had roughly half power. But most importantly, it wasn't FTL. So, the 80-minute travel time was plenty for Annabelle's evasive maneuvers to evade it. The beam vanished into the void of space.
The tears did not fall. Not yet. There was more work to be done. Her eyes fixated on the fifth and final planet cracker, which was turning her way. The sensors picked up several stealth fighters attached to the gun's sides, helping to push it to make those quick turns.
Annabelle had the dreadnaught roll, swinging it back toward the rotating planet cracker. She'd measured the firing time of the last one, and the momentum of the thing would work against it. By the time it would be able to match her forward motion and account for it, she would be out of the cone. She had an extra 10 minutes, thanks to the light lag for that. And she'd put them to use.
The Battle Planner swooped back in, using the precious minutes to burn toward the last remaining threat. Annabelle's ship passed the line of sight of the planet cracker. It had already started charging, but it was too late. The last of her ship had passed when the massive gun belched a ray of thick light. It seared past and below her, as she'd also used the light lag to add a bit of relative yaw and pitch to her ship. The laser destroyed her shields and ruined the armor facing it with heat expansion. Plasma formed on the edges of her dreadnaught, exploding away in violent puffs.
The actual beam had passed a scant few thousand miles away and was going off into space, this time hitting nothing at all directly.
A stream of fire from the planet cracker hit the shields at the same time, trying to keep the opening from allowing purchase in the shields. But as the residual explosions cleared, nothing seemed to happen. No fighters, no giant battles against the well-prepared defenses.
"Permission to fire?" Phoebe asked.
"Permission granted," Annabelle replied.
A hard light hologram around the captured fourth planet cracker fell away. A thick beam passed the shield of the fifth planet cracker, weakening it visibly. Then, the planet cracker beam hit the star in the center of the system. A gigantic coronal mass ejection followed, along with an ejection of plasma roughly eight times the size of Jupiter, as the beam detonated within the dense interior of the hot ball of plasma.
The magnetic storm which followed disabled every shield in the system, leaving the Cawlarians and the Alliance easy pickings of the planet cracker. Phoebe's androids landed on the burnt and blasted metal surface first. Thermite Throwers followed.
Five hours later, the battle ended. The hivemind wrapped her in a gentle hug as the mental block on her grief slowly started to fade.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Elder Manil Van smiled as he ate something called a burger. So far, the tour he'd gone on with the Alliance had been mostly uneventful. Dirty looks, a few mothers moving to the opposite side of the street, and a whole lot of walking. He had expected it, though.
The Patriarch checked in on him periodically, looking through his eyes and sometimes listening to the conversations that Manil had. A few of the humans on Luna actually were interested in learning more about him. They'd come up to him, shake his claws with their hands under the wary gazes of his guards, and ask if they could learn more about him. Some of their interests were academic. Several scientists had been recording his testimony on how genetic altering and conceptual energy had contributed to the number of Elders who were angry all the time.
Others wanted to know more about his culture, traditions, and morals. They'd been surprised several times to learn just how similar some of them were or how different. The Casting Of the Candles as a way to honor the death of someone great by setting floating candles into a river was apparently similar to how a few of them had done funeral services. Other times, they were surprised by Manils' descriptions of how large the Sprilnav's trains and buses were to account for quadrupedal forms. Their ceilings were generally lower in exchange for packing more people inside. Some of them were also interested in Sprilnav fashion.
Most of it wasn't something that he bothered with. The Sprilnav didn't really do 'pants' like humans did. With four legs, that was often relegated to either long socks, robes, and dresses, or just simple loincloths. Female Sprilnav didn't have the same taboo that female humans did about showing their chests. Manil assumed it was likely due to a lack of mammary glands at the location, so there was no 'breast-feeding' of children or any related stimulations even possible.
The dimorphism between male and female humans was greater than that of the Sprilnav, who mostly showed it in bone structures and how lean their bodies were. Others had compared him to other quadrupedal Earth creatures, attempting to see the singularities and differences.
Of course, he denied anything that required extensive physical interaction. The rave gyms that Equisa apparently went to didn't interest him, with their large crowds. He disliked having so many eyes on him, so he decided to avoid that whenever he could. One particularly bold human had even asked him on a date, citing things that were apparently mixes of superstitions and odd fantasies gained from too much time spent on a network with a great deal of certain content.
Though some of it was shocking, most wasn't. He'd seen a lot in his long life, and if a network was unregulated enough, a lot of the things Phoebe later explained to him would also appear. Though the fact that anything they did managed to surprise him at all was worrying, considering that they were not an old species.
"And you likely could start up a few businesses, for the novelty of it," Phoebe was saying. Manil nodded absently.
"What is it?"
"Where are Luke and Leia?"
"Elsewhere," Phoebe said. "They're assets of the Alliance. We don't exactly give away their locations. Especially..." she trailed off.
"Especially not to Sprilnav," Manil finished.
"Yes. I am authorized to tell you that further contact can be arranged in the future, under careful circumstances."
"That is good. They are good people, somehow. I'm still trying to figure out how to managed to make super soldiers that are good people."
"I had no hand in their creation. But we managed."
"Yes. I would hope no more are being experimented upon."
"I can neither confirm or deny that. Take that as you will, but there will be no further conversation about classified topics."
"Then... how are you feeling, Phoebe? I heard you got in some hot water recently."
"Learned that idiom too? And yes, I did," she said, looking a little defensive. "Politicians are who they are. But Humanity is better than them, and kinder than them. Even the youngest people can say the nicest things to me. It's what I love about them."
"Love," Manil said. "An interesting word."
"A true one. I am a person, and I happen to be able to love."
"You have people that do not love?"
"There are different kinds. Aromantic people, for example. Edu'frec doesn't engage in non-familial relationships. The wanderers do things differently, as do the Junyli. Every species is different."
"So you have people that do not contribute."
"We do. Every society does, and they all deserve a chance at life."
"An interesting opinion, but I suppose our cultures to have differences."
"I hope you don't purge your own people."
"I do not. The Van family does not. But we are not our entire species, just as you and Penny are not the entire Alliance. It is prudent to remember that."
He said it more for the Patriarch than for them.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Penny frowned as Valisada continued to defend himself against Justicar's anger. Kashaunta's promise of a 'civilized discussion' clearly didn't account for their animosity. Only Valisada didn't say anything, continuing to listen to various insults spewed against him and his leadership. When Justicar's latest tirade finished, Valisada turned toward Penny.
"Your ally is gifted with his words."
"How dare you ignore me," Justicar said. "Your Grand Fleet did this, and I will have my reparations."
"What's your price, now that you are done?"
"50 quintillion credits, and you leave."
Justicar had escalated his terms. Valisada noticed, as did Penny.
Nilnacrawla sighed in Penny's head.
If we get him to sign a non-aggression treaty, we need to ensure both Kashaunta and Justicar have a vested interest in backing it. He isn't above tarnishing his reputation for the issues he believes are important. He is dangerous, and you must remain vigilant while he is Grand Fleet Commander.
Kashaunta is worse than I hoped.
She is what you knew she was, but is now comfortable letting her worse side free so it will be normalized when the Judgment is done. Once you get used to it, you will excuse it, and Kashaunta will use your gratitude to ensure your continued relationship. She is grooming you, Penny.
For what?
Likely to continue providing her money with the linear singularities. Do not be surprised if new threats appear that 'only Kashaunta can stop' when the Judgment ends. Or if it goes unfavorably, for her to clamp down because she knows she's the Alliance's only hope. Play at anger or friendship if you wish, but do not forget who she is, and how she got her wealth.
Thank you, Nilnacrawla, Penny said. But can you remind me when I'm losing my way, if I do in the future?
Gladly.
"I cannot leave, sadly," Valisada said, looking truly downtrodden at the request. "I have my own masters I must please, the same ones who ensured the previous leader's removal. I cannot go against their desires, and their desires are for me to remain here, as a check against Kashaunta and her own Grand Fleet."
"My Grand Fleet is here because yours is. And I would note that yours arrived first," Kashaunta replied.
"Through no actions of my own, and I am unable to rectify that to your liking."
"That is convenient, isn't it?" Justicar asked.
"Ask them about that. They're the ones who attacked my flagship and abducted Azeri," Valisada responded. "I hold no animosity about that, but your actions to have consequences. I will not be bullied or goaded into making a poor decision here. You all are smart people, so surely you realize that any further arguments must have a legal backing before we proceed. Justicar is uniquely equipped to handle these things, given the size and scale of his legal apparatus, as well as its high quality. Just as I am sure that the Judgment will proceed soon."
"You almost sound eager for it, Elder Valisada. Is there any reason why?" Penny asked.
"Well, yes. It is because I am tired of this. Regrettably, it will determine the fate of your species. But that is life. The weak are ruled by the strong."
"And yet you say you do not look down upon Humanity."
"It is not a weakness of your forms, or of your hearts. It is one of minds, population, and resources. And your Alliance has more species than just Humanity, Penny. Are you not concerned for the teeming billions of Acuarfar, or the Guulin you stole from the United Legions?"
"The Guulin were liberated from slavery," Penny frowned. "And when I get back down to Justicar, I will continue doing that to the innocent people your Dreadnaught Captain mercilessly slaughtered. In the interest of honest cooperation, I will terminate gang leaders with prejudice if I must, but only if there is no other choice.
Any who have links to your Grand Fleet will be treated even more harshly, which should discourage any more 'rogue' members of your fleet from engaging in illicit affairs. For the 455 thousand dead Sprilnav that Solei personally killed, it would be the least you can do. Given that the Grand Fleets exist to protect the Sprilnav species from all threats, internal and external, of course."
"Perhaps Solei believed you were an external threat," Valisada replied. "Given your threats against those who actively stand against you, it would make sense from his perspective."
Penny laughed. "His last perspective was of Justicar's teeth crunching through his ribcage."
"How distasteful to laugh over such a gruesome death."
Valisada actually managed to look sad about it.
"Distateful, Elder? I'm showing the same amount of appreciation that you do for the Sprilnav who don't happen to be rich and powerful Elders. Unless you are assuming that the 455 thousand Sprilnav are worth less than the life of one Elder?"
"There is no assumption necessary," Valisada said. "In monetary, legal, economic, and even political studies, this has been proven true. In fact, the lowest estimates for the ratios are 1 Elder for every 50 million Sprilnav, though some more biased studies can go quite higher. I remember the Autonomous Peoples' Stars put out a study which found that roughly 20 billion Sprilnav equaled an Elder in value.
Of course, the names of those who funded that study happened to include several Elders high up in the political hierarchy, including a certain Elder named Kashaunta. Luckily, more realistic measures of our worth prevail. In the event of a war breaking out, the largest losses for Justicar would be the civilians."
"And a war will not break out," Justicar agreed. "If it does, my jaws will find a new Elder's body."
For effect, his tongue slid over his teeth. It was a grotesque gesture, but neither of the Elders seemed bothered by it. Perhaps they'd seen worse. Penny had to admit it would just be another step to Elder insanity if they were cannibals, too. The only thing worse was if they did blood sacrifices on babies in cults.
"You know, cannibalism is considered a crime by your very own laws," Valisada said as if that was the only problem with it worth considering.
"I do not remember consuming the physical meat of Solei, which is the requirement for that law. Deaths in the mindscape can happen when Elders make poor decisions. But that is beside the point. I have matters to attend to, and will be sending over some agreements and lawyers to your ship. Kill them or harm them, and you will be at war with me for real," Justicar threatened.
"Without a flagship, such a measure would be foolish," Valisada said.
"Luckily, he would not be without a flagship in that case," Kashaunta replied. "Because I will be sending lawyers too. Rest assured, a war with me, and my nation, is something you might live to see the end of, though your remaining relatives on your home planet would not."
"You would not dare."
"I would," Kashaunta said. "Quite recently, I have been reminded of my previous methods of dealing with those like you. I believe I was reminded 'what I am' if you would. You do not care about the people Solei killed on Justicar, and neither will I for Padalia, Ni-alsi 2, or Malikaven."
So this was to make Penny feel bad for her words. She saw what this was, and would not allow herself to be swayed. Elders had this sort of tendency, and if she wanted to get a positive outcome, she'd have to deal with it for a bit longer. Perhaps Kashaunta would regain her willingness to maintain her facade of friendliness again once this was over.
But Penny would not forget this. Kashaunta was the Alliance's best option, but that didn't mean she was a good one. After the Judgment, Penny would reexamine their relationship.
Valisada's eyes narrowed. "You would increase it to three planets?"
"Yes. I believe their total population is roughly 140 billion people. That equates to 70 Elders. Or 67.16, if we are being exact with the study I believe you are citing."
Penny did her best to hide her disgust but failed. Valisada took notice. "This is who you work for, Penny. This is who she really is."
Don't listen to him, Nilnacrawla said.
I know. He doesn't want what's best for us, and Kashaunta's our means to an end.
Watch you back, Penny. I'll do the same.
"I know," Penny replied. "But we don't have any other allies. You're not exactly reliable, even if you were to suspiciously flip sides and make an offer to be a new ally. Justicar is bound to his planet. The Progenitors are pulling back their influence."
"And such extreme threats as I have made would only come to fruition if a war were to break out," Kashaunta said. "I am making them so you understand the scope of your actions as a Grand Fleet Commander. Perhaps I was overly harsh, but do not mistake these threats as empty. I protect my own."
"Your own?" Valisada asked. Kashaunta flicked a claw toward Penny, without meeting her gaze. Penny was still processing the sudden escalation, which had seemingly came out of nowhere. Why was Kashaunta pretending she cared? She clearly saw Penny and the Alliance as means to an end. Perhaps even several ends.
"Penny, and those she values. I could consider the slaves as citizens of the People's Stars, for example."
"No, you could not," Justicar responded. His demeanor darkened visibly, and the lighting in the virtual reality became darker.
"Why not? You don't think they're your citizens, do you? Not much 'justice' in keeping slaves, hmm?"
This is stupid, and a waste of my time, Penny thought.
They do need a bit of an ego check, don't they? Nilnacrawla agreed.
Yes.
Penny stood up, making her chair slide backward. "Can you all quit being evil? This is ridiculous. All we need to do is sit together and draft agreements. Otherwise, leave it to the lawyers, and stop with the petty insults. Or the grave ones. You're not 5 year olds. You're billions of years old. It's honestly sad. No, it's pathetic.
How have you managed to keep your 'master race' thing going this long, when you suck this badly? Spoiled little brats. Can you believe Kashaunta told me I needed to be civilized for this meeting? Perhaps I should don a loincloth and pick up my club, so I can start hooting it up with you old primitives."
The Elders paused, looking at Penny in wonder.
"You see? Let's talk treaties. Do you guys have any ideas, or should I go get some wood for a bonfire? With how much you all talk, I'm sure your singing voices must be phenomenal."

Klaszin watched.
There were so many things to see. Particularly for one whose eyes had been opened as Klaszin's had. The path to awareness was a long one, measured across the many generations of his family. Each person in that chain had done their part, carefully cultivating the magic within them and ensuring it was properly passed on. This was way to true power. This was the way to magic that reached beyond this world and into the many worlds connected to it.
This ability was new to Humanity. For so long magic had been caged, held fast by the Gods who drained this world of its resources. Earth's mana was stolen, its magic users culled before the seed within them blossomed.
It was only in secret that this power could be cultivated. Only in the remote holds in the blasted wastes could Humanity slowly gather its strength. When Klaszin's eyes opened, all things impossible became possible. The Gods became vulnerable.
At long last, a Godbreaker Mage. One who could finally free Humanity from its shackles.
Beside Klaszin stood a woman, wizened and crippled. Time had been unkind to her body, but her mind shined still. She watched Klaszin just as Klaszin watched the fabric of reality. Occasionally, she tutted, shaking her head slightly. "No. Not him. Not yet."
Klaszin grimaced, frustrated. "Why? I am powerful enough."
She smiled at her son. He was not wrong, but he was not right either. "This is not a question of power. It's a question of the proper ordering of things. Of removing the cancer infecting our world without killing the patient. Slaying Onima would remove our greatest tumor, but we would not survive it. We must nibble at the edges first. Cut away the lesser gods and increase our own resources. Put ourselves in the place of these false idols and restore Humanity to self-determination."
These were not words Klaszin wanted to hear. He was young and impatient. He lusted for grand confrontation, for true justice, not the slaying of pitiful demigods. But his mother had always been his guide, and he was loathe to disappoint her. It was she that showed him the path to Enlightenment. It was she that had taught him how to open his eyes.
He wondered, not for the first time, why she had not done so for herself. He had asked, once, and had received only a thin grin in response.
Then, a ripple. A wave coursing through the fabric as it was pierced. A gate from a world beyond as a God made their way to this world. Klaszin to feel the contours of the gate. The signature. Beside him, his mother tensed, her thin, bony fingers grasping his wrist.
"Yes! Him!" She hissed. "Go."
Klaszin nodded, his hand reaching down to pull a stream of mana from the vast vat sitting behind his chair. His mother would aid in protecting it, as would the others in his retinue, but it would still be his greatest weakness. He pulled the mana into him, connecting his body to the river flowing from the vat. The blue ether pulsed in time with his heart as power filled him. With each passing moment, he felt his magic well up within him. So many things sharpened when he drew upon his family's store.
But it came at a cost. Mana was precious. Every droplet was worth kingdoms. When he drew upon it, he must make the most of it, conserving what he could. God hunting was a terribly expensive business.
Klaszin raised his left hand, two fingers extended, in a vertical slice. A rent in the fabric appeared as a small window between places was carved open. The same hand now sliced horizontally, expanding the window. Then he stood and approached the incision. He reached out with two hands and pulled apart the seams of reality, opening a portal large enough to travel through. His retainers moved quickly, their own magic fortifying the boundaries of the portal, ensuring it would not collapse and separate Klaszin from the flow of mana from the vat.
His mother gave him a small bow. "Fight well, son. A victory against Gonchan, Keeper of Many Things, will alter much in this battle."
"He should not have come," Klaszin replied.
"They are hungry and arrogant. Their dead brothers and sisters can convince them for only so long. Good luck."
Klaszin nodded and then stepped through the portal.
He now stood in a vast throne room, an entire wall open to the air with a view of a vast city beyond. The entire city was nestled between the peaks of two mountains. Atop the taller of the two peaks was a massive, golden temple. Klaszin was familiar with the place, his tutors had taken care to instruct him on all of Humanity's God cities. This was Gon Jhian, capitol of the High Shelf. This was the seat of power for Gonchan. The heart of the land that worshiped him. Tithing their mana to him.
Commotion commenced shortly after Klaszin arrived. Dozens of bodies moved to intercept him as a shrill cry rose above the ruckus. "Intruder! Protect the King!"
Klaszin watched them come, curious. He had been to many different lands and he always found it curious how many things remained the same despite the distance between them. All reacted much the same way to unexpected events, treating every surprise as a threat. It wasn't an odd reaction, and the Kingsguard of Gon Jhian were to be commended for their discipline and speed. But it was still disappointing.
And a waste of mana.
"Stop!" Klaszin said, raising his hands. His fingers danced in front of him, directing streams of mana out. Within moments, the Kingsguard was subdued, the joints of their armor melded together. They tottered a few steps and then toppled over. It would take considerable time and access to a blacksmith to remove them from their makeshift prisons.
Grumbling, Klaszin turned to the King. He expected a man but found a boy, cowering atop an ornate, gold-encrusted throne. Klaszin frowned, "Where is your father?" He searched his memory for the name and found it buried in a dusty corner filled with history lessons from Scholar Hachin. "Yennis?"
The boy swallowed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "D-D-dead."
"Fine. You are?"
"King Flaharg."
It was a terrible name, but Klaszin saw little purpose in pointing it out. The new King had enough problems. Besides, Flaharg probably already knew.
"King Flaharg, I am here for Gonchan. I suggest you, and your troops, remain here."
His eyes widened, "Lord...Gonchan? He's returned? It's been so long."
A loud gong rang out from the temple above, reverberating through the valley, announcing the arrival of the God into his domain. Klaszin arched a brow and pointed in the direction of the temple. "I will make my way to him now." He began to make his away across the throne room toward a massive set of doors emblazoned with the symbol of a giant beast. It looked vaguely like a cross between a dragon and a cat. Gonchan.
Flaharg swallowed, "Who are you?" He moistened his lips. "What are you?"
Klaszin paused, "I am Godbreaker Klaszin."
"Godbreaker..." Flaharg repeated, trying to understand. But he would not, not until Klaszin had done what he had come here to do. There was no concept for a Godbreaker in Gon Jhian. There were only Gods. But they would learn soon enough.
Before Flaharg could say more, Klaszin was at the door. He pushed his palm out in front of him, and the doors slammed open, flying off their hinges and careening up the stairs beyond. He spared a brief glance back at the portal behind him and the thin stream of mana flowing through it. Members of retinue were making their way through the portal, their shields marked with the Godbreaker crest. They took up guard beside the portal, their faces grim.
Seeing no reason not to trust the matter to them, Klaszin reached to the smooth wall beside him. A hand of carved stone reached out of the wall and grasped his own hand. Moments later Klaszin was lifted up and then pulled along as the hand ascended the stairway. As much as he would like to float up the stairs, being dragged up by a wall hand was far more efficient. Perhaps, once he had access to more sources of mana, he could use it on luxuries.
Just before the top of the stairway the hand let him go, depositing him in front of a second set of massive doors. These two are subjected to the same treatment, blowing outward and off their hinges, slamming into the temple entryway beyond. Screams rang out as attendants fled his arrival.
Ahead, Klaszin could feel Gonchan stirring, awakening to his presence. Klaszin wished he could have simply opened a portal directly to the God, but it was too dangerous. Until the portal was well-fortified, it was easy to attack, just as Gonchan's portal was right now.
Klaszin could feel the gate in the room beyond the entryway. The God had left it open, but had not protected it. Klaszin wondered at the carelessness of Gods. Perhaps they had been too long unchallenged in their power to be anything other than thoughtless, but it still surprised him. Klaszin had already killed three lesser Gods, one would think that might create a reaction.
But preferences created patterns. Patterns settled into habits. Habits were difficult to root out.
Well, it was to Klaszin's advantage. He crouched down and two hands of polished marble reached up and lay ahold of his feet and ankles, yanking him forward and through the entryway. To either side loomed massive carved statues of Gonchan, the Keeper of Many Things. All these depicted was a mass of mouths, each open and waiting.
The doors ahead, towering and fortified, strained and then gave away at his approach. Klaszin was a Godbreaker, and barriers, regardless of their craft, would not keep him from his objective. As the doors swung inward, cracking on their hinges, they revealed the room beyond. It was an enormous space, dappled with ornate columns supporting a ceiling hundreds of feet above. The center of the chamber was dominated by a massive pool, bubbling and roiling from the heat of a hundred unseen furnaces below. All along the periphery of the room were shelves and display cases, holding precious gems, artifacts, and other treasures stolen from Humanity.
Klaszin took all of this in but remained focused on the pool. He could feel the portal between worlds deep below, obscured by the waters. He could also sense Gonchan, squirming its way toward the portal.
"Coward!" Klaszin snarled. The marble hands pulled him across the floor and to the pool. He peered down into the clouded depths, pulling mana from his thread to aid his perception. The portal was distant, but not unreachable. Traveling to it through the boiling water would be dangerous, but possible. It was unlikely to make a difference, Gonchan was faster and closer to the portal. Klaszin would not reach it in time.
The Godbreaker frowned, frustrated, as he considered unappealing options.
He would not get another chance at this. This was the time to act. Even if it came at a terrible cost, removing Gonchan from the pantheon would be worth it. Klaszin focused and called a much greater thread of mana through the portal. The torrent rushed into him, coursing through his body and setting his veins on fire. His eyes flared blue, crackles of energy sizzling at the corners. He knelt down, pressing both palms flat against the marble bordering the pool. He could feel the great slabs of it reaching deep into the ground beneath the temple, cradling the pool.
Mana began to flow into those slabs, concentrating on unseen fissures. Precious seconds trickled by before a groan rattled through the temple as the slabs began to crack, releasing the water from the pool through a thousand holes. Steam rose off the roiling water as it swirled away, and Kalszin leapt in, following it down into the rapidly draining cistern.
Klaszin could see portions of Gonchan's massive form appear from the pool as the great beast was tossed around by the rapidly receding water, drawn away from the portal it so desperately sought to reach. Klaszin had studied each of the Gods, but seeing them in person always cemented the nature of his task -- each God was a being of terrible beauty. Gonchan was no different.
According to his scholars, Gonchan was a Hydratic Leviathan. A creature of immense size, far beyond those populating Earth, its natural habitat was the boiling oceans of its own world. It feasted upon almost anything it could reach with its many gaping maws, though it took particular pleasure in objects of worth, particularly those vested with magical properties. The vast shelves in the temple chamber were priceless by any measure but in this place they were reduced to morsel for the God to dine upon at its leisure.
The water continued to drain away, bringing more of Gonchan in the view. Steam billowed in great gouts around it, but Klaszin could see the beast well enough. The center of its mass was an enormous body, mottled brown and oblong. Long, dragging tentacles emerged from it, interspersed with writhing serpentine necks capped with mouths ringed with rows of gnashing teach. On the body itself, a dozen oozing unblinking eyes stared outward at Klaszin as he approached.
[Who are you to stand before a GOD?]
The words rang out in Klaszin, drowning out his thoughts and pushing a compulsion on him to kneel. It was not the first time Klaszin had to contend with God Speak, but it still frayed his nerves. His opened eye saw it for what it was -- a forceful but intricate application of mana -- and pushed the compulsion aside.
Klaszin would not bow before a God.
"I am the Godbreaker," he replied. He brought his hands up into a steeple before him, gathering a mana blade in the small space between them. Then he drew his left hand downward, pulling the now formed blade along with it. It extended outward from his hand by few feet, a shimmering blue pane of energy. He raised his hand beside his head and then swiped it down in a chopping motion. The blue pane of energy released on the downward swing and flew through the air, meeting the fleshy neck of one of the mouths and severing it.
The God squealed, black ichor spraying from the severed mouth.
"You should not have come Gonchan. This is not your world. It is ours." Another blade slashed outward, severing a grasping tentacle in the process of trying to drag Gonchan along the floor of the cistern and toward the portal on the other side. "I am your end."
[I will feast upon you.]
A great gnashing of maws followed the words as multiple heads dove toward Klaszin. Marble hands reached up and lay ahold of Klaszin's feet once again and he slid along the cistern floor in a half crouch, occasionally leaping over the drainage holes he had created earlier. As the mouths darted forward, they were dealt with, the mana blade slicing through each, severing in some cases or carving off great heaps of flesh in others.
Severed heads began to reform, two maws emerging from the oozing stump. With each additional set of mouths, the corpus of the main body shrank slightly, providing substance to form the heads. An ocrean of mana flowed through the God as it sustained its attack. The assault was brutal but simple. Gonchan was a beast and followed its natural tendencies. These were understandable and exploitable.
Klaszin slowly circled the cistern, defending against the head and tentacles as he made his way to the portal. Unlike his own, it was a massive aperture easily a few hundred feet in diameter. As a gate between worlds, Klaszin could not peer beyond its surface, but he could feel the connection to the place beyond. Klaszin wished dearly to move through the portal and wreak vengeance on the world beyond just as Gonchan had done here, but it was not possible. His thread of mana could not follow him there.
All he could do was punish Gonchan for coming here.
Klaszin began to tear at the unprotected edges of the portal, collapsing the rent in the fabric and helping the tear to mend. Gonchan began to emit a keening wail as the portal began to fragment and dissolve. Klaszin had little concept of how Gods formed these portals but he knew creating one was no simple thing even for the Gods. Once lost, they became stranded in this world. Captured.
Klaszin studied Gonchan. Much of its massive body had been fed into new maws. Hundreds of them now swarmed about snapping futilely at Klaszin, who stood beyond their reach.
[FEAST!]
[FEAST!]
[FEAST!]
Gonchan screamed in his mind. Klaszin could feel the rage and hunger in the God. He could also sense the fear. Without the waters, it was growing cold and lethargic. With the new heads it was draining its energy far faster than normal. It needed food. It needed to escape this cold, miserable place.
It would not.
While the heads and tentacles flailed and writhed, Klaszin gathered pushed mana through his body once again, slowly shaping a ball of energy before him. It took some time to form, it was no simple thing to construct a weapon capable of killing a God. Once the ball had reached a sufficient size he began to draw it out, pushing energy into an infinitesimally small point of energy and then flaring out from there into a spearhead.
By the time he was done the mana spear was over two dozen feet long with massive rivulets of power coursing along its length. Dimly, Klaszin could sense the draining tank of mana back through the portal and regretted the cost of the weapon.
But there was nothing to be done.
God hunting was a terribly expensive business.
Klaszin began to feed mana into the propulsion apparatus at the tail of the spear, loading it with enough energy to travel to and through the God. Only when he was absolutely certain he had done enough to complete the task at hand did he release it.
The mana spear shot through the space between him and Gonchan, leaving a brilliant brue streaking afterimage in Klaszin's eyes. It pierced the great corpus of the God and disappeared in, leaving charred flesh at the entrypoint. Moments later Gonchan's body began to pulse blue and white as destructive fire lanced through it, traveling up the necks of the maws and then spraying outward as it was burned from within.
Within moments, the God shuddered and then was dead.
Klaszin stared at the beast, hating it. Centuries had passed with Gonchan weighing upon this land. Countless lives and treasures had disappeared into that being, only for it to demand more. It was the Keeper of Many Things, and it had taken all of them. There was no regaining what had been lost. The mana had been consumed or stored in the world beyond. It would take time for the people of this land to recover.
He let out a long sigh.
Marble hands reached up and lay hold of his feet, pushing him up the cistern and away from the great body of the dead God. Another gone, but so many still remained. Twenty-seven. Less and Greater.
Resjin with Many Hands
Nightstealer.
Onima.
They were all out there, taking from Humanity.
And Klaszin the Godbreaker would kill them all.

Klaszin watched.
There were so many things to see. Particularly for one whose eyes had been opened as Klaszin's had. The path to awareness was a long one, measured across the many generations of his family. Each person in that chain had done their part, carefully cultivating the magic within them and ensuring it was properly passed on. This was way to true power. This was the way to magic that reached beyond this world and into the many worlds connected to it.
This ability was new to Humanity. For so long magic had been caged, held fast by the Gods who drained this world of its resources. Earth's mana was stolen, its magic users culled before the seed within them blossomed.
It was only in secret that this power could be cultivated. Only in the remote holds in the blasted wastes could Humanity slowly gather its strength. When Klaszin's eyes opened, all things impossible became possible. The Gods became vulnerable.
At long last, a Godbreaker Mage. One who could finally free Humanity from its shackles.
Beside Klaszin stood a woman, wizened and crippled. Time had been unkind to her body, but her mind shined still. She watched Klaszin just as Klaszin watched the fabric of reality. Occasionally, she tutted, shaking her head slightly. "No. Not him. Not yet."
Klaszin grimaced, frustrated. "Why? I am powerful enough."
She smiled at her son. He was not wrong, but he was not right either. "This is not a question of power. It's a question of the proper ordering of things. Of removing the cancer infecting our world without killing the patient. Slaying Onima would remove our greatest tumor, but we would not survive it. We must nibble at the edges first. Cut away the lesser gods and increase our own resources. Put ourselves in the place of these false idols and restore Humanity to self-determination."
These were not words Klaszin wanted to hear. He was young and impatient. He lusted for grand confrontation, for true justice, not the slaying of pitiful demigods. But his mother had always been his guide, and he was loathe to disappoint her. It was she that showed him the path to Enlightenment. It was she that had taught him how to open his eyes.
He wondered, not for the first time, why she had not done so for herself. He had asked, once, and had received only a thin grin in response.
Then, a ripple. A wave coursing through the fabric as it was pierced. A gate from a world beyond as a God made their way to this world. Klaszin to feel the contours of the gate. The signature. Beside him, his mother tensed, her thin, bony fingers grasping his wrist.
"Yes! Him!" She hissed. "Go."
Klaszin nodded, his hand reaching down to pull a stream of mana from the vast vat sitting behind his chair. His mother would aid in protecting it, as would the others in his retinue, but it would still be his greatest weakness. He pulled the mana into him, connecting his body to the river flowing from the vat. The blue ether pulsed in time with his heart as power filled him. With each passing moment, he felt his magic well up within him. So many things sharpened when he drew upon his family's store.
But it came at a cost. Mana was precious. Every droplet was worth kingdoms. When he drew upon it, he must make the most of it, conserving what he could. God hunting was a terribly expensive business.
Klaszin raised his left hand, two fingers extended, in a vertical slice. A rent in the fabric appeared as a small window between places was carved open. The same hand now sliced horizontally, expanding the window. Then he stood and approached the incision. He reached out with two hands and pulled apart the seams of reality, opening a portal large enough to travel through. His retainers moved quickly, their own magic fortifying the boundaries of the portal, ensuring it would not collapse and separate Klaszin from the flow of mana from the vat.
His mother gave him a small bow. "Fight well, son. A victory against Gonchan, Keeper of Many Things, will alter much in this battle."
"He should not have come," Klaszin replied.
"They are hungry and arrogant. Their dead brothers and sisters can convince them for only so long. Good luck."
Klaszin nodded and then stepped through the portal.
He now stood in a vast throne room, an entire wall open to the air with a view of a vast city beyond. The entire city was nestled between the peaks of two mountains. Atop the taller of the two peaks was a massive, golden temple. Klaszin was familiar with the place, his tutors had taken care to instruct him on all of Humanity's God cities. This was Gon Jhian, capitol of the High Shelf. This was the seat of power for Gonchan. The heart of the land that worshiped him. Tithing their mana to him.
Commotion commenced shortly after Klaszin arrived. Dozens of bodies moved to intercept him as a shrill cry rose above the ruckus. "Intruder! Protect the King!"
Klaszin watched them come, curious. He had been to many different lands and he always found it curious how many things remained the same despite the distance between them. All reacted much the same way to unexpected events, treating every surprise as a threat. It wasn't an odd reaction, and the Kingsguard of Gon Jhian were to be commended for their discipline and speed. But it was still disappointing.
And a waste of mana.
"Stop!" Klaszin said, raising his hands. His fingers danced in front of him, directing streams of mana out. Within moments, the Kingsguard was subdued, the joints of their armor melded together. They tottered a few steps and then toppled over. It would take considerable time and access to a blacksmith to remove them from their makeshift prisons.
Grumbling, Klaszin turned to the King. He expected a man but found a boy, cowering atop an ornate, gold-encrusted throne. Klaszin frowned, "Where is your father?" He searched his memory for the name and found it buried in a dusty corner filled with history lessons from Scholar Hachin. "Yennis?"
The boy swallowed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "D-D-dead."
"Fine. You are?"
"King Flaharg."
It was a terrible name, but Klaszin saw little purpose in pointing it out. The new King had enough problems. Besides, Flaharg probably already knew.
"King Flaharg, I am here for Gonchan. I suggest you, and your troops, remain here."
His eyes widened, "Lord...Gonchan? He's returned? It's been so long."
A loud gong rang out from the temple above, reverberating through the valley, announcing the arrival of the God into his domain. Klaszin arched a brow and pointed in the direction of the temple. "I will make my way to him now." He began to make his away across the throne room toward a massive set of doors emblazoned with the symbol of a giant beast. It looked vaguely like a cross between a dragon and a cat. Gonchan.
Flaharg swallowed, "Who are you?" He moistened his lips. "What are you?"
Klaszin paused, "I am Godbreaker Klaszin."
"Godbreaker..." Flaharg repeated, trying to understand. But he would not, not until Klaszin had done what he had come here to do. There was no concept for a Godbreaker in Gon Jhian. There were only Gods. But they would learn soon enough.
Before Flaharg could say more, Klaszin was at the door. He pushed his palm out in front of him, and the doors slammed open, flying off their hinges and careening up the stairs beyond. He spared a brief glance back at the portal behind him and the thin stream of mana flowing through it. Members of retinue were making their way through the portal, their shields marked with the Godbreaker crest. They took up guard beside the portal, their faces grim.
Seeing no reason not to trust the matter to them, Klaszin reached to the smooth wall beside him. A hand of carved stone reached out of the wall and grasped his own hand. Moments later Klaszin was lifted up and then pulled along as the hand ascended the stairway. As much as he would like to float up the stairs, being dragged up by a wall hand was far more efficient. Perhaps, once he had access to more sources of mana, he could use it on luxuries.
Just before the top of the stairway the hand let him go, depositing him in front of a second set of massive doors. These two are subjected to the same treatment, blowing outward and off their hinges, slamming into the temple entryway beyond. Screams rang out as attendants fled his arrival.
Ahead, Klaszin could feel Gonchan stirring, awakening to his presence. Klaszin wished he could have simply opened a portal directly to the God, but it was too dangerous. Until the portal was well-fortified, it was easy to attack, just as Gonchan's portal was right now.
Klaszin could feel the gate in the room beyond the entryway. The God had left it open, but had not protected it. Klaszin wondered at the carelessness of Gods. Perhaps they had been too long unchallenged in their power to be anything other than thoughtless, but it still surprised him. Klaszin had already killed three lesser Gods, one would think that might create a reaction.
But preferences created patterns. Patterns settled into habits. Habits were difficult to root out.
Well, it was to Klaszin's advantage. He crouched down and two hands of polished marble reached up and lay ahold of his feet and ankles, yanking him forward and through the entryway. To either side loomed massive carved statues of Gonchan, the Keeper of Many Things. All these depicted was a mass of mouths, each open and waiting.
The doors ahead, towering and fortified, strained and then gave away at his approach. Klaszin was a Godbreaker, and barriers, regardless of their craft, would not keep him from his objective. As the doors swung inward, cracking on their hinges, they revealed the room beyond. It was an enormous space, dappled with ornate columns supporting a ceiling hundreds of feet above. The center of the chamber was dominated by a massive pool, bubbling and roiling from the heat of a hundred unseen furnaces below. All along the periphery of the room were shelves and display cases, holding precious gems, artifacts, and other treasures stolen from Humanity.
Klaszin took all of this in but remained focused on the pool. He could feel the portal between worlds deep below, obscured by the waters. He could also sense Gonchan, squirming its way toward the portal.
"Coward!" Klaszin snarled. The marble hands pulled him across the floor and to the pool. He peered down into the clouded depths, pulling mana from his thread to aid his perception. The portal was distant, but not unreachable. Traveling to it through the boiling water would be dangerous, but possible. It was unlikely to make a difference, Gonchan was faster and closer to the portal. Klaszin would not reach it in time.
The Godbreaker frowned, frustrated, as he considered unappealing options.
He would not get another chance at this. This was the time to act. Even if it came at a terrible cost, removing Gonchan from the pantheon would be worth it. Klaszin focused and called a much greater thread of mana through the portal. The torrent rushed into him, coursing through his body and setting his veins on fire. His eyes flared blue, crackles of energy sizzling at the corners. He knelt down, pressing both palms flat against the marble bordering the pool. He could feel the great slabs of it reaching deep into the ground beneath the temple, cradling the pool.
Mana began to flow into those slabs, concentrating on unseen fissures. Precious seconds trickled by before a groan rattled through the temple as the slabs began to crack, releasing the water from the pool through a thousand holes. Steam rose off the roiling water as it swirled away, and Kalszin leapt in, following it down into the rapidly draining cistern.
Klaszin could see portions of Gonchan's massive form appear from the pool as the great beast was tossed around by the rapidly receding water, drawn away from the portal it so desperately sought to reach. Klaszin had studied each of the Gods, but seeing them in person always cemented the nature of his task -- each God was a being of terrible beauty. Gonchan was no different.
According to his scholars, Gonchan was a Hydratic Leviathan. A creature of immense size, far beyond those populating Earth, its natural habitat was the boiling oceans of its own world. It feasted upon almost anything it could reach with its many gaping maws, though it took particular pleasure in objects of worth, particularly those vested with magical properties. The vast shelves in the temple chamber were priceless by any measure but in this place they were reduced to morsel for the God to dine upon at its leisure.
The water continued to drain away, bringing more of Gonchan in the view. Steam billowed in great gouts around it, but Klaszin could see the beast well enough. The center of its mass was an enormous body, mottled brown and oblong. Long, dragging tentacles emerged from it, interspersed with writhing serpentine necks capped with mouths ringed with rows of gnashing teach. On the body itself, a dozen oozing unblinking eyes stared outward at Klaszin as he approached.
[Who are you to stand before a GOD?]
The words rang out in Klaszin, drowning out his thoughts and pushing a compulsion on him to kneel. It was not the first time Klaszin had to contend with God Speak, but it still frayed his nerves. His opened eye saw it for what it was -- a forceful but intricate application of mana -- and pushed the compulsion aside.
Klaszin would not bow before a God.
"I am the Godbreaker," he replied. He brought his hands up into a steeple before him, gathering a mana blade in the small space between them. Then he drew his left hand downward, pulling the now formed blade along with it. It extended outward from his hand by few feet, a shimmering blue pane of energy. He raised his hand beside his head and then swiped it down in a chopping motion. The blue pane of energy released on the downward swing and flew through the air, meeting the fleshy neck of one of the mouths and severing it.
The God squealed, black ichor spraying from the severed mouth.
"You should not have come Gonchan. This is not your world. It is ours." Another blade slashed outward, severing a grasping tentacle in the process of trying to drag Gonchan along the floor of the cistern and toward the portal on the other side. "I am your end."
[I will feast upon you.]
A great gnashing of maws followed the words as multiple heads dove toward Klaszin. Marble hands reached up and lay ahold of Klaszin's feet once again and he slid along the cistern floor in a half crouch, occasionally leaping over the drainage holes he had created earlier. As the mouths darted forward, they were dealt with, the mana blade slicing through each, severing in some cases or carving off great heaps of flesh in others.
Severed heads began to reform, two maws emerging from the oozing stump. With each additional set of mouths, the corpus of the main body shrank slightly, providing substance to form the heads. An ocrean of mana flowed through the God as it sustained its attack. The assault was brutal but simple. Gonchan was a beast and followed its natural tendencies. These were understandable and exploitable.
Klaszin slowly circled the cistern, defending against the head and tentacles as he made his way to the portal. Unlike his own, it was a massive aperture easily a few hundred feet in diameter. As a gate between worlds, Klaszin could not peer beyond its surface, but he could feel the connection to the place beyond. Klaszin wished dearly to move through the portal and wreak vengeance on the world beyond just as Gonchan had done here, but it was not possible. His thread of mana could not follow him there.
All he could do was punish Gonchan for coming here.
Klaszin began to tear at the unprotected edges of the portal, collapsing the rent in the fabric and helping the tear to mend. Gonchan began to emit a keening wail as the portal began to fragment and dissolve. Klaszin had little concept of how Gods formed these portals but he knew creating one was no simple thing even for the Gods. Once lost, they became stranded in this world. Captured.
Klaszin studied Gonchan. Much of its massive body had been fed into new maws. Hundreds of them now swarmed about snapping futilely at Klaszin, who stood beyond their reach.
[FEAST!]
[FEAST!]
[FEAST!]
Gonchan screamed in his mind. Klaszin could feel the rage and hunger in the God. He could also sense the fear. Without the waters, it was growing cold and lethargic. With the new heads it was draining its energy far faster than normal. It needed food. It needed to escape this cold, miserable place.
It would not.
While the heads and tentacles flailed and writhed, Klaszin gathered pushed mana through his body once again, slowly shaping a ball of energy before him. It took some time to form, it was no simple thing to construct a weapon capable of killing a God. Once the ball had reached a sufficient size he began to draw it out, pushing energy into an infinitesimally small point of energy and then flaring out from there into a spearhead.
By the time he was done the mana spear was over two dozen feet long with massive rivulets of power coursing along its length. Dimly, Klaszin could sense the draining tank of mana back through the portal and regretted the cost of the weapon.
But there was nothing to be done.
God hunting was a terribly expensive business.
Klaszin began to feed mana into the propulsion apparatus at the tail of the spear, loading it with enough energy to travel to and through the God. Only when he was absolutely certain he had done enough to complete the task at hand did he release it.
The mana spear shot through the space between him and Gonchan, leaving a brilliant brue streaking afterimage in Klaszin's eyes. It pierced the great corpus of the God and disappeared in, leaving charred flesh at the entrypoint. Moments later Gonchan's body began to pulse blue and white as destructive fire lanced through it, traveling up the necks of the maws and then spraying outward as it was burned from within.
Within moments, the God shuddered and then was dead.
Klaszin stared at the beast, hating it. Centuries had passed with Gonchan weighing upon this land. Countless lives and treasures had disappeared into that being, only for it to demand more. It was the Keeper of Many Things, and it had taken all of them. There was no regaining what had been lost. The mana had been consumed or stored in the world beyond. It would take time for the people of this land to recover.
He let out a long sigh.
Marble hands reached up and lay hold of his feet, pushing him up the cistern and away from the great body of the dead God. Another gone, but so many still remained. Twenty-seven. Less and Greater.
Resjin with Many Hands
Nightstealer.
Onima.
They were all out there, taking from Humanity.
And Klaszin the Godbreaker would kill them all.
Want MOAR peril?
PerilousPlatypus

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

Just looking for thoughts and general critique. This has been a project I have been working on while I query lit agents with another manuscript. It isn't a genre I am overly familiar with so I wanted to know if I was hitting the right feeling. My worldbuilding has never been a concern but I tend to be less confident with some of my prose. I tend to be a bit wordy and overly descript so this was my attempt at pulling back on that.
Much appreciated!
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Chapter One:

The Profane Baroness

Being dead sounded nice right about now. Not a ‘world peace’ kind of nice but a ‘warm evening with nothing to do’ kind of nice. Raz didn’t necessarily want to die but she hadn’t slept in two days and was desperate for a break. She was overworked. Honestly, at the best of times she was just intolerably busy but the Church didn’t care if exorcists were well rested so long as their jobs were completed. Raz unfortunately had a greater sense of duty than self preservation, a pesky morality which interfered with her happiness more than she cared to admit. She hated it.
Right now, she hated her insomnia more but only because it was a larger concern. She could bemoan her commitment to doing good later. There were only so many annoyances one could spare focus for.
‘Prevalence is the guiding compass of animosity.’
An Alvidic scripture instinctually popped into Raz’s head. It was verse three of the first Sleeve of Anger, written by the Avatar of Wrath and his two apostles. The line was a personal favorite of hers. It always perfectly chimed in to justify her sour moods.
Another yawn began and Raz did her best to stifle it. She wasn’t used to being out this early. Mornings were weird.
The carriage she was in started to bump on freshly laden cobbles and Raz held on to the door handle for balance. Autumn air let the echo of wheels bounce between the high walls of nearby brick tenements. The streets were quiet and the din of a bustling community was all but missing.
Leather pulled taught and the horses sighed as the carriage came to a stop. The driver, understandably disheveled for the hour, opened the door for Raz despite her protests to him earlier in the day. He held out his hand but she refused the gesture and hopped onto the street.
“How many times must I tell you that I can get down just fine on my own?” She demanded.
The driver bowed. “Everytime, Madam Breaker. It is my pleasure and duty to insist otherwise.”
Raz smiled and rapped the man’s hat with a knuckle. “Very well. Until next time.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“No need. I have a few other appointments in the area after this one. I'll walk. You look tired, get some rest. And if anyone at the church wants to employ your time before you can get that rest you may tell them that I was the one who gave the order.”
The driver chuckled as he climbed back to his seat and tipped his hat. “As you wish, Madam Breaker.”
Raz turned from the carriage to face the Silent Sentinels standing guard outside a nearby apartment. Their silver spears glinted menacingly in the lamplights. She took a few steps forward and they moved to either side of the entrance, recognizing their own. Servants of Angels always had that same look of fatigue.
"Many thanks." She said as she gave the door a shove.
Once inside, Raz found herself toe to toe with half of the neighborhood’s constabulary. Whatever happened here had a considerable draw. Most officers waiting about were young recruits, all smiles and wide eyes moving back and forth from one foot to the other with a palpable energy. All heads turned to Raz as she stepped in, shining an uncomfortable spotlight her way.
She stood still, prey wandering into a wolf’s den.
A tall Officer close by broke the silence. “Sorry, ma’am. You aren’t allowed in the building at this time, police business. Sort of. Military business, actually. No one is allowed in or out.” He approached through the crowd with an ungainly strut. “The Sentinels should have barred your entry to begin with. Let me escort you back out and I will have a quick word with them.” He smiled while giving Raz a searching glance. “And if you are without escort I could keep you company until the matter here is resolved.”
“Not again.” A young man to his side joked.
“Save some for the rest of us, then.” Another quipped.
The Officer put his hand on Raz’s shoulder and her lip curled as his fingers dug in. He tried to guide her back to the doors but she didn’t budge. She held a stance strong as any stone.
Her words were succinct, “Remove your filthy hand from my robes or I will move it for you.”
The Officer stopped mid stride. He turned slowly, face twisting to disbelief.
The energy in the room suddenly shifted.
Smiles faded.
A hush pushed in a wave.
“You what?” He demanded.
Raz doubled down. “Remove your hand from me or I will snap every bone in it. All Twenty-seven. Then I will take your hat and feed you each corner until you learn some manners.”
Red crept up the Officers’s neck. His mouth closed with a snap, a sneer replacing his surprise.
Without giving him time to make a fool of himself, Raz parted her first cloak to the side. The gold insignia of the church glimmered just above her heart.
“Yes Ma’am! Right away, Ma’am!” The officer shouted as he jerked his hand away and took two steps back, head bowed, eyes to the floor. “Apologies, Ma’am!”
“Ah, now you get it. Took you longer than most. It seems Wisdom is chasing you but you are just too quick for it.” Raz said as she pointed to her robes. “The next time you see black and silver regalia I suggest you keep your mouth shut and move to the side.”
As if a beat had not been missed, the room had resumed its previous energy. Awe was suddenly in every mouth, every smile. A SpiritBreaker had come down from on high to spread her holy benevolence.
The officer wasted no time apologizing further. “Forgive my crook, Breaker. I meant no disrespect. If there is anything I can do to help all you need do is–”
“Just point to where I am needed.” Raz interrupted.
Without looking back up, he gestured a full hand to the back of the room where a staircase was hidden behind a circle of chatty Officers. Brown uniforms and black tri cornered hats parted like a canyon split by a river as she passed by. Their whispers rose as she walked, quick and giddy exchanges.
“First a Marshal and now a SpiritBreaker.”
“What an honor.”
“The wife won’t believe this.”
Raz had no smiles to offer their excitement. Their sentiments were kind if not misguided. She was nothing special. She had a job to do, same as them. There was no glamor to it.
Two floors up, a hallway bright with oil sconces led to a door where another young officer stood guard. He had taken his pocket square from out his coat and was using it to cover his face. He noticed Raz right away and tried to meet her halfway down the hall.
“Apologies, ma’am.” He said with a muffle. “This area is currently off limits–”
Raz flaunted her insignia once more. “Yes, I am aware.”
She tried to walk past but the officer kept ahead of her, walking backwards with an outstretched hand. “I have been told that a Breaker was coming but I still cannot permit you into the apartment before the okay is given. My superiors were very insistent, your holiness. Were it me, I would let you in without a fuss. I am a devout man. Please don’t tell the Angels of my disrespect.”
Raz sighed. “No disrespect given. You are merely doing your duty.” Her voice lost its power. “Can you at least let your superiors know that I am here and with a very busy schedule.”
The man gleefully nodded, happy to perform the task. He rushed back to the door and gave a brief pause to catch his breath but before he could turn the knob it swung outward. Four men shouldered out, trying to move the weight of a body twisted tightly in a black linen carrier. They shuffled gracelessly as the corpse in the sheets swayed, dripping a foul, brown liquid as it did. Their elbows banged from wall to wall and their boots squeaked on the wood. A herd of elk would have made less noise. To top it all off, another man was trailing behind them, laying out a line of handkerchiefs over the body’s droppings. He attempted to mop the remains with his foot while simultaneously trying not to look at it.
Despite the lumbering procession, each officer managed a quick bow as they passed the Breaker by.
“Forgive them.” A voice spoke from out the open doorway.
Raz turned to address the speaker and a tall man wearing the badges of a High Marshal smiled her way. His coiffed hair was thick and black, powdered to the popular style. It was tied in a neat tail that reached his shoulders. His navy and black trimmed uniform was clean and had a shine from complex copper embroidery. He stepped to Raz softly despite the heavy look of his riding boots.
“They are new recruits. Most of the Night Watch are, actually. They have to endure rights of passage to work normal hours. I am trying to wash away a bit of their green but tired men learn lessons slowly. Most of them were just about to retire for the morning before they received word of that body.” His voice was kind yet rigid with the iron of command. “Do not hold their lack of refinement against them, Breaker. I implore your forgiveness.”
“I know the hardships that come with surviving the tail of a long day.” Raz sympathized. “But you needn’t clear out the body on my account. I have performed exorcisms around them before. I can normally be counted upon to finish my task before the deceased get cold.”
“Your expertise is a gift, Breaker, but there were some sensitivities to this particular case that I am not in the position to divulge or let you see.”
“Is that why you still guard the door?”
“Precisely. I still have an officer clearing away some evidence.”
Raz waited for an introduction, raising her eyebrows and inclining her head.
The officer hid a yawn of his own while trying to kick one of the soiled handkerchiefs to the side. He quickly looked up with a sharp inhale, eyes a wide realization. “Oh goodness, how terrible of me! A thousand apologies, Breaker. My name is Denwater, Marshal Denwater, I am leading this investigation. It would honor me to know your acquaintance.”
“Speak easy.” Raz urged. “I hold no ill will against your breach of social protocol. I am no lady and spread no gossip.” She chuckled. “It looks as though you too have started your shift earlier than expected. I am no doubt sure you're a bit befuddled.” She bowed her head forward and a tangle of necklaces leaned with her. “My name is Razayel. If it pleases you, you may call me Raz, like ‘Rosaline.’”
“A pleasure, Raz.” Denwater responded with a deeper bow.
They both exchanged practiced smiles but there was no easy segway to conversation from where they arrived. It was too early for charming lilts.
The dread of smalltalk loomed.
Raz dug her nails into her palms.
Denwater cleared his throat and tried to straighten out his cravat. He squinted, searching for a common topic.
Raz looked at the apartment and rocked back and forth from heel to toe. She twiddled her thumbs behind her back. “So– Denwater is a peculiar surname for a human. Do you have a bit of Wen in your blood?”
“Well noticed. My Great Grandfather is Wen. A soldier. He fought in some of the last battles of emancipation.”
“Interesting.”
“Indeed.”
“Been a Marshal long?”
“A handful of years.”
“Oh good.”
“And have you been a SpiritBreaker long?”
Raz raised an eyebrow.
“Right. You have since birth. My apologies.”
Thankfully, a loud scream came from inside the apartment. The sound of broken wood and scattered furniture was met quickly by a few additional yelps.
A well set officer clutching a full burlap sack barreled out the door. He shouldered past Marshal Denwater and nearly tripped flat footed to the wood below. When he regained his balance he saw Raz and immediately scrambled to get behind her.
“Stars and Angels!” The man cursed. “O-oh thank the Gods you are here Breaker. A specter just tried to push a bookcase on me. I-I saw it. It looked at me with eyes deep as The Well. It held out its hand to me. It held out its hand as if to drag me down to the waters of oblivion.”
“Officer!” Denwater shouted. “Remember yourself!”
“Yes, sir! Sorry, Sir!” The man heaved breathlessly. He shot up rigid, straight backed with a salute across his chest. He then held up a hand to his head as a faint started to seize his body. The wall cradled him as he slumped against it. “My knees are butter. Ten years on the force and I have never had such a fright. Felt a chill enter my body. Heard a groan and there it was.”
Raz gave the man a searching look. “You saw a full body apparition?”
The man looked to the Marshal and Denwater gave an approving nod. “I don’t know about all that, your holiness, but it almost looked like a shadow had come to life and was trying to grab me. Before I knew it, books started to fall from the shelves and my training must've kicked in because I started running.”
Denwater put a hand to the man’s shoulder. “Go ahead and go home. Try to keep tight lipped to the others downstairs. Get some rest and I will debrief you tomorrow, understood?”
The man’s jowls shook as he nodded with a hurry and made a low bow before he walked with a quick step to the stairs.
“If this Spirit is capable of manifesting full body to normal folk then they must have been dead quite a long time.” Raz thought out loud. “Do you have any idea how many days have passed?”
Denwater’s lips went thin. “I am not at liberty to say.”
“What about the deceased? Can you tell me their name or which of the three faiths they held?”
“I cannot divulge that as well. This is a sensitive matter.”
Raz battered the Marshal with a weighty glare. “Well then, what can you tell me?”
Denwater straightened up. “I can tell you that I am quite excited to watch you work and help with our investigation if you can.”
“Help with the investigation? I am no detective. I perform exorcisms.”
“Yes. That is true. However, I am told that you have a remarkable skill with seeing the dead and right now that is a talent I am in need of.”
“That will explain why the church was so insistent that I needed to be the one to come to this appointment then.”
“I asked for you by reputation and told the Church to keep the news close to the stars. I hope you do not feel deceived in any way. Discretion is a necessity with these types of affairs. I hope you understand.”
“So not only is this Spirit hindering your investigation but you also hope to gleam some sort of insight to the victim’s final moments using my powers? Sounds like you have little information to help you solve a murder.”
The Marshal stayed his tongue.
“You don’t know anything about the victim, do you? It’s not that you are unable to tell me, it's because there is nothing to tell as of yet.”
“And you say you are no detective. Well done, Breaker.”
“Don’t try to lift my heart with kind words, Marshal Denwater. It won’t work.” Raz pointed to the door with an open hand. “Let's get this over with. I have a busy day.”
The Marshal turned on his heel with a smile and opened the way forward. “Hindering our investigation is an understatement. Evidence we take keeps disappearing only to show back up where we grabbed them from. The house creaks like someone is walking near you. I kept thinking I heard my men speak a few times but I looked up to see them across the room. Truth be told, I am not accustomed to this kind of phenomena. I wouldn’t say I fear it but it puts me at unease.”
Raz stepped inside and the sweet smell of decay assaulted the air. She disliked how much she enjoyed it. “That is how some of them feed. Nibbling on your emotions.”
“How charming.”
“Have you noticed your men feeling the same unease?”
“You saw for yourself.” Denwater said as he pointed to the books scattered on the ground. “Would it be a problem?”
“That depends. If the Spirit has lingered long enough or fed enough then there is a chance it has corrupted itself beyond a simple haunting to a Demonic incursion.”
“Wonderful.”
“That is why I am here. SpiritBreaker’s prevent as much from happening.”
Raz surveyed every corner of the sitting room. It was a large apartment for a Chalmish neighborhood. It had the loud modesty of a politician about it. Richly decorated curtains did their best to hold back part of the sun as it started to rise above the city walls. Expensive furniture, moved from their indented spaces, told the tale of repeated search attempts. Raz closed the entryway and noticed a small design scratched into the wood of the door frame. She bent down to get a better look as goosebumps prickled on her arms.
Symbols arranged into a diamond were etched into either side of the door near to the floor. They weren’t anything she recognized. It didn’t match any of the big three languages or their distant dialects. It wasn’t anything ancient or Angelic either but the more she looked at it the more she started to feel a chill. Her philology was unmatched at her parish so to see something alien was a peculiarity. To her surprise, Raz felt more fear than excitement.
“That is on all the doorways.” Denwater chimed in. “Looks like a filigree test to me. Likely to see which room would best fit the design.”
Raz continued to stare.
“Is it not?”
“I don’t know.” She said as she stood and took a step back to get a different perspective. “It looks like it has meaning but it is wholly unfamiliar to me.”
“Filigree. It is something you see in the houses of highborn folk. Not too uncommon.”
“I have been to many. My church has them as well. Those have repeating patterns to create a sprawling design but this looks different.” Her mouth was starting to dry up. “It looks like spellwork. But it isn't an Angelic script. Is it just on the one side?”
Denwater walked to a nearby door and opened it while Raz did the same for the entryway. The other side was untouched.
“Just the one side.” The Marshal informed.
The goosebumps came back. “It’s like a containment spell.”
The Marshal shivered. He could feel the same thing Raz was. “Beg your pardon, Breaker, but I think we should get back to the task at hand. There is much I must do with this investigation.” He gestured to a spot nearby.
Just off the sitting room was a dark, oval stain. Poorly cleaned residue still pockmarked the resting spot of the body. Raz walked over and bent down close to it.
“This is an advanced amount of putrefaction.” She remarked.
Marshal Denwater joined in. “Adipocere. You could see it falling from the body when it was hauled out. The victim was possibly dead for at least three weeks before we found them. We can ascertain that much at least.”
“I imagine that kind of decay is what made identifying the deceased a difficult task.”
“It would have, yes. However, that wasn’t why we couldn’t. I don’t think I would be out of line in telling you that this isn’t an ordinary case.”
Raz tried not to roll her eyes too hard. “You don’t say.”
“Decomposition is one thing but the victim was intentionally disfigured to ensure we didn’t find out their identity.”
“And that is why you need me?”
“That is why we need you.” Denwater agreed. “With your talents, you should be able to see the spirit of the victim as they were when they lived. Perhaps give us a positive identification.”
A small head poked from out the door Denwater opened. The wide eyes of a wary cat looked the two up and down.
The Marshal jolted with a spook.
Raz smiled and beckoned the cat closer with a few kisses.
“It was around when we got here. Not sure if it’s the victim’s.” Denwater explained as he tried to slow his breathing. “The window was open so it might have been a stray.”
“Not a stray.” Raz said as the cat made slow steps to her. “An animal’s instinct tells them to avoid a body that has forsaken rebirth. Only loyalty stays that fear. This little cutie was a pet, not a scavenger.”
“Your wisdom knows no bounds, Breaker.”
“It is just a simple fact.”
The cat had the brown, black, and white painted coat of a Calico. She stalked forward and pushed her cheek into Raz’s welcoming hand.
“Are all Breakers good with animals?”
“Cats have an affinity with me the same as Spirits.” Raz informed as she started to give small scratches to the chin. “They say that felines are guardians of The Well. They straddle the bridge between the waters of oblivion and mortal life which is why it is said that they have nine lives.”
The Calico’s purr had only just started before she hunkered down to the floor, pupils growing wide. Her back arched and raised the fur as she stared at something just behind them.
Raz stood up. “Seems like our ghost is trying to materialize again.”
Denwater shot up and put a hand to the hilt of his sword. “What should I do?”
“Nothing, until I tell you to. I know this is your crime scene, Marshal, but if you want to gain the insights you desire then you are going to follow my order without question.”
“I am at your disposal.”
“Good.” Raz reached into her top robe and pulled out a necklace. “Put this on. It won’t offer you any significant protection from attack but it should be enough. Until we know what kind of Spirit we are dealing with we will assume that it is hostile and means to harm us.”
“Harm us? Can it truly?”
Raz turned to look at the Marshal with a knowing glance.
“Don’t do this to me, Breaker. I have not encountered a Spirit before. I am feeling my courage dwindle with the minutes. Surely they can’t kill us. Those are just stories, right?”
“Some of the best tales are kerneled with truth.”
“Tell me you jest.” Denwater pleaded as he fumbled against the clasp of the necklace.
The Spirit had fed much on the man. Outside the room he was composed but it was all but lost when he reentered this space.
Raz shushed the man as she walked slowly to the other end of the living room where the books had been thrown from the shelf on the wall. A feeling like static started to charge the hairs on her neck. The air left a crisp wake as the room changed into something less amiable.
“In order to exorcize a Spirit.” Raz began. “We first must find out what faith it held when it passed. Until then it could either be a Human ghost, a Wen Burden, or a Chalm Geist. Human ghosts are easy because they are bound by the Passing Zodiac. If we know the time of death we can accurately determine its death traits and remove it with opposing scripture. Wen Elemental Burdens, on the other hand, are also simple to determine but much harder to get rid of.”
“And Chalm Geists?”
“We’ll cross that unruly bridge when we get there. Let us just hope it is one of the former.”
The Marshal and the cat cautiously followed behind Raz.
“Now. Why the books?” She thought out loud. “Why materialize after having them moved? Could be a possessive trait. That would help to narrow down our search.” Raz picked up a few of the books and tossed them back to the ground. She looked around, waiting for something to happen before she turned to the Marshal with a smile. “Denwater, could you do me a favor and fiddle about with the bookcase?”
“Aren’t you better equipped for such a thing?”
His voice was starting to strain. Just like any other animal, his body was starting to feel the effects of aberrant energy. His bones were tuning to the resonance of a haunting. Nothing compared to the aura of a site that was being stirred into a whip.
Raz took a few steps to the door and the cat kept by her feet. “Some spirits find Breakers familiar and won’t respond to their taunts. You, however, are just right to ruffle their feathers.”
“I want you to note that I am uncomfortable with this idea.”
“Noted.”
Denwater shook his head and bent down to pick up a few books and started to toss them one by one down to the floor. He kept looking over his shoulder. Something primal was taking over his brain. It felt something. His breaths were quicker. The slightest bend in his knees readied his body to sprint away.
It was the response Raz was looking for. Yes, some Spirits liked to avoid Breakers but that wasn’t the whole story. Some Spirits liked to stoke fear and feed off of it. Since being in the room, the Marshal had grown all the more nervous.
Skittish.
Only one spirit coveted possessions and consumed nervous energy close to this time of the year and all things considered, it could have been a much worse outcome.
Denwater picked up another book from the ground. A pair of gnarled feet stood next to it. As he rose, a body loomed near to him. Pallid flesh, barely covered in a dirty night robe, took in slow breaths it didn’t need. They held up a hand, long fingernails reaching for the Marshal.
“Don’t move.” Raz nearly whispered.
Denwater opened his eyes wide and looked up. He kept stiff, halfway to reaching down for a few more books to toss around.
Raz held out a hand to give something for him to focus on. They locked eyes and the Breaker could see the strength of his heart fleeing. Whatever tales he grew up on were suddenly behind him and his body could sense it. Fear was a natural reaction.
“So long as you stay still and don’t touch their things anymore, they will lose interest in you.” Raz tried to placate.
Growing wider still, Denwater’s eyes tried to spy his fate from the corner of his vision. He was a stone, unable to do anything but let his mind run away with dread.
“My Gods.” The Breaker gasped.
“W-what is it?”
“They are still disfigured. Even in death.”
Cuts, jagged and harsh like deep ravines scoured the face. There were no recognizable features. No rising cheek bones. No sunken sockets. Just the swollen tangle of flesh struggling to heal on a face abused and forsaken.
The Marshal braved a few words. “Is that abnormal? Have you never seen as much before?”
“No. Never. There is no way unless–” A sickly revelation rose. “Unless they were maimed long before they were murdered. Kept alive. Kept alive for weeks. Cut up. Tortured. Long enough until the depravity was the only thing the mind remembers. The Spirit recalls only the horror. It became them.”
“Race? Sex? Anything?”
“They aren’t Chalmish. The complexion could be either Human or Wen. The night gown is soaked in dried blood. It is concaved. Organs were taken. But the hips look wider. A woman. She is looking for a book now.”
Taking a clumsy step, the Spirit tried to look over the spines of books. It fumbled blind with a raised, crooked finger. It tried to feel for some kind of marking. It searched for some kind of familiarity.
Denwater took the chance to try and sneak away. He managed one silent tip toe but his energy pulled at the Spirit like a sprung trap. It immediately turned and raised a hand, opening its mouth wide. Scarred tissue stretched and tore. Broken teeth caked in dried blood yelled in a quiet fury. The Marshal had a wisp of transient vapor rise from the back of his head and wrap around the Spirit’s outstretched finger. He fell to the ground, sapped of power.
“Stop!” Razayel yelled as she held out a charm carved from dark wood.
The Spirit did not respond. The sound of its feasting was like air rushing through a winding cavern. The Marshal was losing consciousness. His life was being stolen.
Raz inspected the charm. “Odd. That usually works.” She lowered her arm. “If you weren’t currently glutting on my ally then I would happily remove you with scripture. But that takes time. Something we both don’t have. How unfortunate. I would have really liked to avoid doing this so early in my day.”
Raz took out a matching necklace to the one she gave the Marshal and dangled the fine, golden symbol with a tight grip. The silver chain began to radiate a dull glow. Similarly, the one around Denwater’s neck did the same.
“Sorry to do this to you, Marshal.” Raz said as she took a deep breath. “By the light of the stars and the Gods from which they shine, I, Razayel, mark you a heretic.”
The Spirit raised its head. Gritted teeth sneered. A low tone groaned in the air as a gurgle popped and bubbled deep in its throat. Feeling the snaring spell start to wrap around it, the Spirit spun quickly to agitation. It tried to charge at the Breaker.
“Scourge of the New Spring month, The Profane Baroness, I name you!” Raz shouted as the silver chain in her hand grew hot and began to sizzle her skin. The Spirit froze in place, midway to attack. “Angels of the Devoted Rivers guide my hand. Release your bargain and return to the cycle.”
The Spirit twitched.
“Release your bargain and return to the cycle!”
The calico clawed at the air between Raz’s legs. Her hisses echoed the prayer.
“Release your bargain and return to the cycle!”
The ghost’s tendons started to snap and pull back. A force, mighty as it was swift, struck out against the wild flails of the derelict soul.
“Release your bargain and return to the cycle!”
The Marshal’s neck began to burn. Skin started to smoke.
The ghost’s gurgles were rounded with pain. Its joints bent backwards as it tried to fight back against the power Raz commanded. It flailed, finally succumbing, falling to its knees. The broken body begged for release, forced into prostration.
The Spirit looked up with malice. “No!” It shouted while fighting back. It managed to stand again. The edges of its mouth tore as it tried to widen the hole to speak again. “You will not damn me, Breaker. I will not go back to the Well. I can not.”
Raz focused the core of her body into the necklace in her hand. The chain was starting to glow red. Her flesh cried out with a terrible, searing pain. Despite her efforts, the spirit did not go back to heel. In fact, it was able to raise an arm and shoved it between a few of the books left on the shelf.
Something was there. Raz could see it now. There were more sigils scratched into the wood behind the case. A hidden fuse, a trigger used to start the complex of a spell.
A freeze shot up Raz’s legs and into the back of her eyes. She exhaled a gout of frost and tried to squirm away from the effects but couldn’t. She was stunned. Stuck in place. Just as the Spirit was being held by a snare trap, so too was the Breaker.
In all her long years, Razayel had never felt anything like this. Spirits couldn’t work spells. Only Angels could.
“I will not go back.” The Profane Baroness declared once more. “I will run. I can outrun what is coming.”
The Spirit took its free hand and shoved it down its throat. Skin split and the jaw cracked out of place. Noise like a falling tree crashed as the Spirit pulled out a small gray sphere. It wretched a gout of scorched, jet liquid as it did. It stared at the Breaker between the mounds of scarred flesh of its face and threw the pearl to the ground. A wispy, gray mass slithered out afterwards and moved around the floor with a puff. It snaked across the wood and right to the cat between her legs. The mist rushed up its nose.
The Calico went limp before shaking violently on the floor. It wailed and hissed. The Spirit dissipated in an instant like it had never been at all. As soon as it was gone Raz regained control of herself.
Scrambling, the Breaker dropped her holy symbol and bent down to grab the cat but it suddenly snapped into action, scampering across the room. It howled as it ran into furniture at a full clip, smashing its new body against everything in its way. Raz had started to shake the cold away before the cat lept out the open window.
Razayel, wide eyed, hand throbbing with a shallow burn, looked to the window, to the unconscious Marshal, back to the window, and finally at the stain left by the corpse.
“Well that's never happened before.”
​
“The Living Zodiac is the breath from which an Angel sings.
The Passing Zodiac is the breath from which The Well deceives.
Peace comes with the cycle. Rebirth is as holy as the passing of stars.”

• The First Scroll of Stars 22:1

First Previous Wiki
"So," Izkrala said, facing down Phoebe with Juan and several other Alliance leaders at her side. Her physical size increased her intimidation factor, though Juan knew that Phoebe had no fear of them. That much had been made clear by her recent actions and her apparent nonchalance at being caught nearly starting wars the Alliance had no current capability to win.
"We must talk about what you have done."
"Yes, we must," Phoebe agreed. She didn't argue or even frown. In all aspects, she was the picture of serenity, as if this was something trivial. Like an anthill in the rainstorm. Her gaze passed over each of them, calculating and insightful. "I understand your viewpoints."
"Then explain your own, so we may scrutinize your reasons for endangering every living being within our shared nation," Juan said, notes of anger in his tone.
"It is simple. Penny was going to attack the flagship no matter what. So I aided her as best I could, so that I could do my best to keep her alive. Because without Penny, it is quite likely the national security of the Alliance would be highly threatened by Kashaunta's withdrawal of support. And notifying you of what I planned to do was too risky, because of the danger of Sprilnav spies in your organizations. Yes, we destroyed many of their bases. But that does not mean we have to become careless with the single greatest resource the Alliance has: Penny's life. For that is what was at stake here."
"And yet, Valisada managed to learn of your involvement," Juan said. "Do you see that as a failure on your part?"
"Infiltrating one of the highest of Sprilnav attack vessels, tearing through it, and coming out on top? No, I do not see that as a failure, even if they learned of my involvement afterward. What it proves is that we have the capability to debilitate them."
"But you do not have that capability," Izkrala said. "You and Penny do, as a team. And again, we cannot spend such a life frivolously. Given that Azeri was in charge of the 85th Grand Fleet, we can assume the Sprilnav have at least 84 others, each with different leaders, programs, and dangers involved. No matter how much they standardize, you would be foolish to think they could not adapt to us. Much grander nations than us have tried to defeat them. Risking the rousing of Sprilnav wrath for Penny was a decision you made, Phoebe.
Perhaps you believe it was logical. But the problem was, and the problem still is, that you committed an act of war against the most dangerous species in the galaxy without even a peep to any of us. That speaks volumes of how you see us, whether you have spoken those words directly or not. It says that you do not trust us, or that you no longer wish to consider our opinions.
In an Alliance, that sort of belligerence is exactly what gets people kicked out. And were you not who you are, Phoebe, you would be getting kicked out of the Alliance for this. You endangered billions of lives. And by not even discussing it, you told us a very clear message. It is that you think you can do whatever you want, without any consequences."
"I saved Penny's life, and therefore the Alliance. It was not a good decision. It was not an easy decision. But I would go back and do it again if I needed to. Because my goals are beyond your feelings, Empress. I wish to ensure that we win the Judgment, and with Nilnacrawla, Penny will not make any significant outbursts."
"So you blame Penny for your actions?"
"I do not. I blame myself. I do not ascribe either a negative or a positive blame, however. But Penny's emotional state was the reason I did what I did. She was close to snapping."
"It seems that she, too, is a liability," one of the Breyyanik from the DMO said.
"I'm sure if your father was kidnapped, you would have become a liability as well," Phoebe responded. "The fact of the matter is that Penny is too powerful for us to ignore, or properly punish. And if we bring her back to the Alliance and jail her, all our momentum disappears. And she can actually be physically contained, but only if she wishes."
"Yes, we are aware you cannot be jailed," Izkrala said. "We have already seen your demonstration that you are above the rule of law."
"That is not what this is," Phoebe said. "Would you rather that Penny is dead, and some Elder rolls up and blasts your empires apart? We lose that Judgment, and we lose Penny, we also lose Kashaunta, and the interest of the only powers still keeping us alive. This isn't some little fairytale. If we let them, the Sprilnav will kill us all. All that prophecy crap and conceptual power or whatever won't save us from a fleet of planet crackers rolling up on Earth."
"I request an apology for what you said."
"The truth, Empress Izkrala? What do you think Yasihaut would do if she was placed in an orphanage, whether human or Acuarfar? How many videos have we seen of Sprilnav androids landing by the billions along with soldiers they're 'training' while slaughtering entire species? And they publish those, without censorship. They show nukes dropping on medieval cities, or on space stations. They show crawling robots eating their way through toddlers' legs, and skulls being smashed on stairs covered with the ashes of dead cities.
The scale of devastation they can unleash is exactly why we must have teeth. We must be too inconvenient to attack, and we remain that way through Kashaunta. Not every invasion fleet will be like the Van family. Sooner or later, war will come for us. Will we be ready, or will we be clawing at each others' throats for saving the single asset we could possibly win it with?"
"And we count for nothing, then?" Juan asked.
"If I am being honest, yes," Phoebe said. "All of us, including me, count for nothing against even half the might of the Sprilnav that I've managed to confirm. 85 Grand Fleets, each with flagships the size of France, with more guns and shields than all of our total production so far combined. The only chance we have is to join with some of the Sprilnav. Kashaunta is the biggest break we are ever going to get.
Without the linear singularities Penny makes, she is gone, and soon, so are we. It will take decades for us to reach the production levels required to match the Sprilnav, even if we activate all of Aphid's planets and militarize every facet of our society. And yes, that is an accomplishment. Other nations would take millennia, or never get there at all.
But the whole of a galaxy, for billions of years, even if they're demilitarized and haven't produced any surplus besides occasional replacements, is not exactly something you catch up to quickly. And so we need to bite the bullet, make the hard choices, and do our best to retain Kashaunta as an ally. We must do that through any and all means necessary, whether it is giving Penny a back rub or breaking her father out of a flagship."
"And were we as gullible as you think we are, we might believe you," Fyuuleen said. "But while your argument is incredibly logical, and I even support the majority of it, you refuse to address the problem with not contacting us before such a major action. Asking you not to do this again is not enough, because we all know you will, in the interest of 'security' or whatever. So tell us, Phoebe. How will you personally compensate us for this lapse, and ensure that this does not happen again? What precisely will you change about how you conduct operations in Sprilnav space, especially around Justicar?"
"Establishing a line to a network where you all can receive updates is a possibility."
"Updates as infrequent as you would desire are not sufficient," Juan said. "We will be kept fully in the loop."
"Then I will keep you in it."
"That is not enough. We will be making decisions, which you will carry out as a show of good faith," Izkrala said. "Since you're a citizen of the Alliance, surely you can agree to this as well."
"It depends. I will not be paralyzed because of your offended feelings. If an action needs to be done, and you are too slow to decide, I will decide for you," Phoebe said.
"You will not," Izkrala replied. "Because you did that here, and nearly cost us everything. We will be making the decisions from here on out. And you will listen."
"It is my android, and my quantum link," Phoebe said. "If you don't like how I do this, then make your own connection, and talk with Kashaunta through your own hotlines to get established with Penny. I can cede some of my sovereignty around this as a show of good faith. But not all of it. I can consider things you cannot, and can anticipate outcomes that you cannot."
"You could claim to be a billion times smarter than us, and it won't matter," Izkrala said. "Because then, you could have foreseen this problem, decided to ignore it, and continued on with starting your war. It is not you that is the problem, Phoebe. It is your lack of willingness to inform us of actions that are this important. If you are not ready to have a mature conversation about this, and let your narcissism get in the way of honestly considering the problem here, then we will wait happily until your balls drop or whatever you people do when you mature, and you get with the program.
In the Alliance, we are all equal. This also means that two leaders in the Alliance can overrule one. There are more than two here who disagree with you, and few I see who agree. If you do not like this arrangement, then perhaps you are not so smart, considering that you joined the Alliance twice, once as a nation and once as yourself. It does not matter who you are. No preferential treatment. If I can share my power with leaders who rule a hundredth of my Empires' population, you can share your power with the people elected by the people you have vowed to listen to and protect, Phoebe."
"Perhaps you would not wish to talk about elections, Izkrala."
The large Acuarfar grinned. "Resorting to petty insults, then? What if I told you that I could easily win any nationwide election I held in my territory?"
"I'd believe you, because of the decades of social engineering you have done. However, your status as a non-elected monarch does not matter in this case, either. We are all equals anyway. And since I understand your anger, then I am willing to set up a few connections for you all to share with each other; that way we can be equal. Penny herself can decide who she listens to, just like before. Please recognize the wisdom in this compromise.
"I agree to it," Juan replied. "But there still must be consequences for what has transpired. You will sell 50% of your assets, and pay the money you received from that in subsidies split by population to each Alliance nation. We will audit everything, so you will not cheat or lie."
Phoebe nodded. "It is somewhat harsh and arbitrary but an understandable price to pay. For that it is worth, I apologize for my refusal to contact you. But know that your decision later on might mean the different between life and death for Penny if you end up leaking information to the Sprilnav accidentally."
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Juamplo looked out the window, seeing the gigantic plumes of smoke rising from the burning city below him. His transport had rerouted to a new landing pad, at the 104th Visitor Welcome Office. The guards Valisada had sent with him also were clearly disturbed, and one of them even seemed to be trembling at the sight of so much death.
Here and there, scattered skyscrapers littered the ground. Their massive frames had made them easy to topple from below, and the Grand Fleet's attacks had destroyed their foundations utterly. Juamplo could see the massive outlines of the craters in the debris, which was still half-molten. Twisted cages of metal, concrete, and alloy reached up like the claws of the damned, glowing in the unholy red light of their surroundings.
The ash-choked sky was only inside the pocket of shields that had been destroyed. Other city shields had completely closed off the area from non-essential personnel. Sprilnav teams wearing hazard suits wandered amongst the remains. Broken girders and frames, thicker than their entire bodies, stuck out of the rubble at irregular intervals, occasionally puffing out gouts of steam or smoke. Flying medical ships and magnetic collectors hovered over the large wrecks, lifting debris and carting it off. Sometimes, pieces of corpses fell from shattered windows when they were lifted, impacting the ground so far below.
Large sections had also caved in entirely, falling deep into the Underground. Juamplo saw many Sprilnav crowds being held back by shields Justicar had set up at the tunnel, and subway exits. Far overhead, cargo ships waited in orbit for hauled remnants of the Grand Fleet's ships to be pulled off the planetary shields.
They were being tossed back into orbit, where the Justicar World News Network was claiming that they would be reprocessed and their components sold as compensation. Interim Fleet Commander Valisada had issued a statement proclaiming his sorrow for the event and highlighting the presence of rogue agents in his fleet he was cracking down upon. He didn't seem to think that he was at fault directly, though he'd contributed half the amount Justicar was asking for to the fund himself.
It was a massive expenditure for a single Elder, and Juamplo respected Valisada greatly for it. His implant honed in on a figure amongst the rubble but with only two legs instead of four. In a large circle around where she walked, the smoke and steam disappeared entirely, and the glowing red rubble faded quickly to dull greys, blacks, and whites. Ash fell on her grey hair, her soft hands, and her alien face.
Penny was part of the clean-up crew. Hundreds of Sprilnav floated in the air above her, with medical shuttles flying in and out of the airspace above them to pluck patients from where they floated. Blankets of psychic energy emanated from her, covering the injured Sprilnav with healing energy as they floated.
Another few hundred, perhaps up to a thousand, suddenly appeared above Penny again. The new group was immediately tended to by medics, and within moments, the sky above her filled up again. Penny was teleporting people out of the rubble, it seemed. And then Juamplo's view of her faded behind the skyline of the city. The place he landed was still far outside the actual zone of destruction since that airspace was closed. His shuttle was the only one landing on the entire cargo pad, which was an eerie thing for such a large transportation hub.
The blue shields and even a few yellow ones glowed in the night sky. The smoke plumes were still visible between the skyscrapers now, but at the street level, they were harder to see without looking directly up. They stepped onto the landing pad gingerly. Juamplo took a large breath of the air, feeling the wrongness in the lack of ash and smoke within. The shields must have been set to a total seal, then.
And beyond lay the worst destruction he'd ever seen in civilized territory—a terrible graveyard that his own fleet had produced at the behest of one rogue captain. What could Valisada do against people like that, who merely existed to prevent him from being seen as competent? Why had the Elder not deigned to commit that ruinous act under Azeri so he could take the blame instead?
Perhaps Valisada was so disruptive that whoever was against him was trying to get him ousted. Juamplo could see it happening; politics like this weren't exactly rare among higher Elder society. Plots were always simmering in the background, both above and below. Perhaps literally below, on this particular planet.
"We must move," he said. "Valisada demands it of us. May the Everlasting give us his blessing."
And so they began their walk. They skipped the restaurant that popped up beside the walkway, and Juamplo showed a token he'd gotten from a soldier on behalf of Valisada when he'd left the flagship. His shoes clanked loudly as he crossed the threshold of the Visitor Welcome Office. The row of receptionists looked up as one as if to dare him to choose any of them over the others. Juamplo merely walked forward, and thus, he found one that suited his needs.
"Welcome to the 104th Visitor Welcome Office," they said. "Do you wish for a Guide to accompany you on your travels, or to rent a room?"
"I wish to board the monorail to the 107th Visitor Welcome Office."
"The 107th? Is there any particular reason?"
"I have an appointment."
"There are no appointments listed on file underneath your name, Officer Juamplo."
"Because I am going there to arrange one."
"You mean you are hoping to take a peek at the human while the streets are empty, so you can cut in the line."
"No," Juamplo replied, frowning at the receptionist's disdainful tone. "And frankly, your rudeness is uncalled for."
"It is not, considering the number of assassins we have located and caught attempting to get to the Welcome Office over there using this very location. You aren't the first, and won't be the last."
"Do you really believe I'm an assassin?" Juamplo asked. "With such weak weapons, and a token from Valisada himself?"
"Unless the Everlasting personally comes in here and vouches for you, you're not getting past the first security scanner, much less to the actual monorail, and especially not during the lockdown. You pay a bribe, we arrest you. You sit here and wait, we will not. You leave, we also will not, and merely file a report instead. This is how things are."
"You seem awfully sure of your position, receptionist."
"You could put a bullet in my head and I'll be back to work in five kilopulses. You can't kill me in a way that matters. Justicar just took care of that. And no, I will not be fired from my post for telling you this in this tone, even if Valisada personally files a complaint. We are well within our rights to refuse service to anyone under any circumstances, and those rights only expand during lockdowns. There is no one going into the hot zone, and no one going out."
Juamplo moved over to the next receptionist, jumping over the line marker in the process.
"Get me over there, then. I am on a mission."
"Then tell your commander you have met an unexpected delay."
Juamplo sighed, glaring at the man with all his might. The Sprilnav looked down again, focusing on some digital project. Juamplo didn't throw a tantrum. Instead, he merely waited, thinking about what he would do.
"Convey the nature of our problem to the Grand Fleet Commander," Juamplo told one of his guards. They nodded, their eyes unfocused in the token sign of implant interactions. When that was finished, Juamplo walked back outside and ate at the restaurant. The food was acceptable.
And then he got his response. He and his guards went back into the shuttle. They flew up into the sky and dove low into the cargo unloading areas. They passed rows and rows of stopped ships, cargo containers, and abandoned equipment. Instead of hundreds of thousands of workers, Juamplo saw a scant few hundred.
The shuttle entered stealth mode as it approached a blue field. Small electron radiators and strange matter generators flared to life simultaneously. And so it was that Juamplo and the shuttle impacted the shield.
They passed straight through without causing even so much as a ripple of resistance or interference. The ship became visible once again, with ash and smoke falling like rain upon it. The air became punctuated with screams, tearing metal, and collapsing buildings. Smoke swirled around them. But Juamplo was more than ready to seek out the object of his concern. He didn't know what he'd do when he found her, but find her, he would.
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Nichole Brey left the conference with a neutral expression. The DMO demonstrated some new robotics products, one of which claimed to be capable of using true nanite technology on a mass scale. While she wasn't directly familiar with the regulations regarding that, she figured there was a caveat that they hadn't mentioned. Likely power, really. That was the biggest problem for the Alliance.
Dyson technology meant that getting the power itself wasn't the issue. It was transport. There was only so much electricity that could get through a power cable. She turned her attention to the mindscape, using the exoskeleton she'd bought recently to do her walking for her. Many people said it was supreme laziness, but it wasn't like exercise was strictly required now that the hivemind existed. And with her age, that was a good thing. Sometimes, a woman needed to have time for herself, letting her legs walk for her while she took the time to think.
The Sevvi's companies had been quite helpful regarding personal conveniences. Many of them remained and were now in close partnership with the Breyyanik counterparts, the previous best in cybernetics. And generally, the pace of advancement and production quality continued to advance. With Phoebe's direct subsidies, the plague of planned obsolescence was almost dead as a business. Not to mention all the laws Nichole herself had passed when she'd been Council Director. And with so much of the Sol system under Luna's direct jurisdiction, the Breyyanik had followed the laws diligently.
The Blood Bond had been marvelous for Humanity, and Nichole was glad she'd been able to participate in it. Even now, flares of perception from Brey hovered at the edge of her consciousness from the mind bridge.
"So," Skira said. "How did it go?"
The drone, wearing a ridiculous-looking tuxedo, was walking beside her as part of her guard detail. He was accompanied by a few of her human guards, as well as two of Phoebe's commando androids, currently in stealth mode. Since Nichole was directly mentally linked with Brey and a former leader, she would always be a target of the Sprilnav. It was simply a bad idea for her not to take precautions, and the Alliance certainly agreed.
"Well, enough. It could work if you supplement some of your new drone variants with them, but only if you account for the swing in their steps with additional reinforcements near the chest. Did you read up on that fantasy game I told you for ideas?"
"I did," Skira said. "Though a few humans have tried to get me into it, as well. And I suppose I do fit the bill of a 'hive organism capable of mustering endless numbers' a bit."
"A bit?" Nichole asked.
"Well, I'm technically a gigantic plant, not an inherently carnivorous ecosystem. That wouldn't really work with my entire planet if I was. What's the point of having drones if they just eat each other while they're alive?"
"I suppose that is a fair point. But the armor?"
"We already integrate alloys into the current iteration of elite drones," Skira said. "The Quadrants have set up a fully automated surgery line for it, even. That way, the damaged plates can be swapped quickly, and new elites do not have to be stunted or sidelined for very long. Efficiency is very important for someone like me."
"I'm sure," Nichole said. "And I suppose now is a good time to ask. Have you thought about buying my niece a ring?"
"Tanya's mostly recovered now, but we haven't discussed a full marriage yet. I was taught many... conflicting ideas about it, and I have an unpleasant history with such commitments. I do like the limbo the current relationship with her is in. Has she brought concerns to you saying she feels otherwise?"
Skira definitely would fit with Tanya well. They got along great together, and they clearly loved and trusted each other. Nichole felt a pang of sadness at the knowledge that it was too late for her to experience anything like that, but she quickly suppressed it.
In her head, Brey said, "You know, you could always put out a video saying you're single and looking to mingle."
"Absolutely not," Nichole said.
"Than quit complaining about being single, if you are not, in fact, looking to mingle."
"That's fair. Where did you even learn that phrase?"
"The internet of course," Brey said. "I find its contents amusing, and quite enjoy the arguments your species engages in."
Skira was still waiting.
"Sorry," Nichole apologized. "I was talking with Brey. And no, she hasn't directly done this, but my intuition tells me she is feeling a bit impatient. You can always discuss it more with her, however. I won't get in the way of healthy discussion in your relationship, especially if you mean for it to last."
"I do," Skira said. "I do not just throw people away at my earliest convenience. That has happened to me, so... I can't even contemplate doing that in any ethical way."
Nichole smiled. He really was childlike sometimes. Though he was obviously old enough to date and marry, there were still pockets of oddness and social quirks to him that made him more likable and made her protective instinct burn. She suspected that Tanya might have been drawn to those first and then gradually fallen in love with him later on. Both of them were far above age and capable of acting like adults and handling their business as they saw fit. Nichole did not need to micromanage them, nor would she, even if a small part of her yearned for control.
She recognized that part of herself but kept it down as she always had. Whether as a private citizen or as the Council Leader, Nichole had always done her best not to get in the way of the greater good when it presented itself. It was why she still had her connections after all these years and why Juan and the rest of the prospective candidates for Councilors and Council Leader came to her when they needed an unbiased perspective. Of course, Cartoro filled that niche, too, when he wasn't on some pleasure cruise in the Caribbean Sea.
"And that is good that you can understand your perspective, and the reasons for it," Nichole said. "But it will make things difficult, if Phoebe is unable to crack immortality."
"Yes," Skira said. "If not, everyone I love dies. The same if Penny screws up anymore in the Sprilnav territory. I don't know if you have contact with her, but maybe she needs another human female perspective."
"Perhaps she does," Nichole agreed. "She is rather reckless. But so can anyone be. Izkrala told me she believes she helped to fix up Penny a bit, but if that problem remains, I may get involved too. But we can't really do much of this mothering from here. If not because of her age, then because of her distance, or because she is more powerful than the Alliance all put together now."
"I doubt that," Skira said.
"Once a politician, always a politician," Nichole said. "Power means many things, and just one thing. She has the direct ear of Kashaunta and Justicar, and likely Lecalicus as well. Three Elders, with one of them being a Progenitor. That is more power than any alien has ever wielded since the dawn of Humanity."
"And she is squandering it."
"By running around, freeing slaves, and engaging in frivolous battles with Yasihaut? Maybe. But I doubt that she will manage to drive Kashaunta away with actions alone. No matter what that Elder says or does, she is slippery beyond belief. Her secrets have secrets, and her every move is likely calculated to elicit a certain response or reaction. She does much as I once did during my time in the Council. A master of the craft."
"And Justicar?"
"We know too little about him," Nichole said. "And it will likely remain that way, if he keeps Phoebe shut out of his networks."
"At the end of the day, we shall see."
"We shall," Nichole agreed. "But I have faith in her. My life depends on her, so I would say that it isn't misguided."
"Tanya's life depends on her, too. And her every move could be the difference between a Sprilnav coming down to stick a sword through her head, or not."
"You assume we would let that happen."
"The Alliance is too pacifist to do otherwise, and its entire image is built upon that, meaning you are locked into acting in such a way if you do not want to look desperate."
"In a war of extinction, everyone is desperate," Nichole replied. "But we are not simply going to lie down and take it."
"You do not have enough planet crackers to breach Sprilnav defenses," Skira said.
"We do not. Not yet. But thanks to the actions of Penny and Phoebe, we have seen the Grand Fleets in action, and can prepare more properly for their weapons to be turned on our worlds."
"So this is all orchestrated?"
"There is no single coordinator," Nichole said. "Many in my alignment wish for Penny to stir them up into a full civil war. Many in Earth's alignment want her to bend the knee until the Judgment ends, then come back home to be either praised or punished, despite the foolishness of that. But the chaos Penny has generated there is actually to the Alliance's benefit more than its detriment for now, since Kashaunta succeeded."
"Succeeded?"
"By proclaiming her will to put a Grand Fleet under our dominion, making them force Elder Azeri out before they could realize what it would mean for them when his replacement arrived."
"So the new Grand Fleet Commander will be better for us?"
"Yes," Nichole grinned. "Because Valisada is an idealist. We have a profile on him. He wants to build a better society for the Sprilnav, and so we can use that against him."
"He won't see through it?"
"He will see through the first layer, and miss the second. We have plans in place, as does Kashaunta, to ensure that Valisada's efforts do exactly what he truly wants them to do. And in the end, he will walk into our trap. He cares too much about his soldiers, and will be more swayed by his emotions during command. He will be less prone to outbursts like Azeri, more conservative in his battle tactics, and more willing to converse when he should not. In the battlefield of the void, the biggest gun rules. But in the war of the pens on the papers, the smartest mind rules. And Humanity has two AIs and a hivemind."
"And if he is playing you?"
"If he can think that far ahead, it would be impressive, but we have plans in place for that as well. The thing with Kashaunta is that she is a politician, too. The backroom deals and lobbying are well-practiced parts of her power. Those which are not as well known will serve us as well. Kashaunta wants to keep us away from other Elders with her level of power. In that vein, we can influence her actions, too."
"But Penny is not privy to all of this."
"Phoebe is. Why do you think we sent her? We will not just force Valisada's moves when we must, but also those of Justicar and Kashaunta. Though I can't say this is all some single master plan. We've been tweaking them as things have happened, and in recent months, there's been a lot of late night meetings. Phoebe was mostly in control, but now it's back to a more decentralized state, with factions and parties again. But we're still doing our best."
Skira paused, considering her words. His feline face grew passive. "It seems you have your work cut out for you, then."
"As do you, my friend. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you and Tanya are together."

“Drop zone approaching. Get ready.” Called the dropship’s pilot from far up in a cockpit somewhere. Casper’s body was encased in his own pilot casket and felt none of the violent shaking and sudden drops as the craft rapidly dropped into the atmosphere, heating its belly until it glowed a brilliant orange.
However, the rig that the young man was piloting, still shook and rattled in its clamps. Thanks to the fearless sensations of piloting such a sturdy piece of machinery, unlike his body that was fallible; he never felt worry or fear from these worrying judders.The optics of the mech were already online and scanning the bay carefully. He’d zoomed in on the only other creature, a geckin, that was in sight too many times to count already. Casper shut off the optics as the geckin, unaware it was being observed, picked its nose before happily consuming the prize it had retrieved.
[Grim.] Casper sent, mildly annoyed that emotions never came across in the text-like messages the two pilots could exchange without speaking.
{What?} Qik returned, in a separate craft that likewise, was dropping into the combat area.
[Our benefactors. Just watched one put their whole ass hand up one nostril.]
{Yummy. Looked like your breakfast, didn’t it?}
The nutrient slop, or ‘slurry’ as they oh so appetisingly called it, was what Casper had to eat both in the morning and at night if he wanted to maintain his already drastically lowered weight. It had the consistency of the word ‘goop’ and, now it had been pointed out to him, the colour of geckin snot.
[I am literally never going to eat again.]
Casper didn’t get a reply, but clicked his optics with the feeling that Qik was laughing or grinning in her own rig at his words. They remained in silence for a minute more before the geckin Casper was watching touched a hand to his own ear before making his way to the exit.
“Inbound! Ten seconds!”
The digging geckin fled the room as moments later the floor beneath Casper’s feet opened and a roaring wind blasted up and into the space. The young pilot couldn’t tilt his body down, so most of his view was obscured by his own body, but he could see a dark, grey landscape far below what would be his dangling feet.
{I’m dropping after you, my original LZ is no good. Get eyes on the operation area, don’t approach yet.}
[Yes ma’am.]
{You’re going to make a fine merc.}
“Dropping!”
Despite not ‘having’ a stomach, Casper still felt a phantom one fall out from beneath him as the sturdy metal clamps that had held his rig steady during the transport, released him as one. Gravity took hold of him, along with inertia and both he and his rig were launched from the dropship at great speed toward an infinite ground. As soon as the mech was cleared, the craft did a sharp upward swing, arcing into the clouds and away from any danger that lurked below.
Casper kept himself upright as he fell despite feeling himself tilt forwards and backwards. Blue streaks of his boosters fired in short, sharp bursts, righting himself perfectly as he threatened to tumble. As he careened toward the pockmarked terrain at speed, the man checked he was coming in at an angle, roughly forty five degrees to ensure he could slide to a stop, bleeding his speed without pummelling the ground at full force.
It wasn’t a danger to do that, but he wasn’t specifically built for that.Some rigs could dramatically enter like that, and it was overall better for them to punch straight down, some even incorporating an air burst landing deployment, igniting the surrounding area of the drop point in an explosion that would merely liquidise the internals of anything organic in the area. Those rigs were super heavies, designed for ‘hot’ drops.
But that wasn’t Casper. He’d never wanted that style of machine. Zeet and he, along with Qik, had chosen from a wide selection of parts to create the mech that ‘felt’ closest to what he would be, if ‘he’, Casper, were a mech and not merely piloting one.
The result? As he fell, he felt light, like he could almost glide down if he wanted to. He felt as if one arrange twitch of his shoulder would get the same from his metal body.
He felt ‘right’.
It took a scant few seconds before his legs hit the terrain with such force it sent rocks and dirt flying all around in a great cloud that obscured him from suddenly awake and watching eyes in the distance for a moment. A fraction of a second later, those eyes watched a dark grey machine fly out of the dust cloud on skis, trailing smoke and dirt in its wake that followed it like vapour trails from a jet.
The mech skidded to a halt a hundred metres away from its landing site, its legs bracing into the skid and a series of three large blue cones of fire slowing him to a halt. It remained still, its two optic ports, scanning and watching the city where the unseen eyes watched it back, undetected by the interloper. The long blade in its hand was not ignored, the machine held it out to one side, the metal perfectly flat. The rain that hadn’t ceased in three weeks, merely pinged and beaded along the perfect edge.
The fisheye lens that was watching, clicked its aperture beforing zooming in rapidly and reading the stencilled text across the interloper’s chest, reporting it to its absent masters.
S P E C T R E
Meanwhile, Casper kept low. He used one hand to brace the front of his mech against the ground as he lowered himself further. Chances were, if there was anyone in the bombed out mega city in the distance, they would have noticed the giant walking mech falling from the sky and causing the same size dust cloud as a building falling over would.
Then again, they also could have dismissed his landing as another shell fired from the distant geckin artillery that had peppered the city with a sustained bombardment before he and Qik arrived for the last forty eight hours. The enemy wouldn’t know when the bombardment would stop, they could use this ignorance to gain a brief element of surprise.
{Spectre, I’m down and inbound. Anything?}
A friendly ‘blip’ began to grow in Casper’s perception. The motion radar, or ‘MR’, along with both ‘friendly’ signals still felt strange to Casper, but it was one of the aspects he had demanded from Zeet. A low profile for himself, but a more sensitive sensor suite for him. He wanted to see the enemy, but not have them see him.
What it meant was, he could ‘tell’ where something was, without needing to look away at a radar readout, or even flick his eyes to a compass with markers. A tiny advantage, but one that had already served him well, way back when he had first fought Qik.
At this time, there was no movement from the dead city.
[Negative Scrub. No one is moving.]
A red mech appeared at Casper’s side, its recon unit briefly turning his way, nodding before turning back. Qik’s mech, compared to Casper’s, felt clunky to the human now. It had none of the articulation his has. When he turned her way to nod back at her, his shoulder pulled back, his arm dropped a fraction. He was fluid. Her whole torso turned, her ‘head’ bobbed, then her whole frame twisted back. It wasn’t her fault, but now the man knew what to look for, he had access to whole other level of movement compared to hers.
She knelt, her body remaining upright, while he stayed low, his legs supporting him, but his whole body brought low by his efforts. His profile was far lower than hers. Still, she knew combat better than him.
He’d seen her in a fight through several of their training sessions. It was one thing to be able to move out of the way of incoming shots, it was another not to expose oneself in the first place.
Casper, or rather, ‘Spectre’ as was his code name on mission, focused up.
The pair of them began to systematically scan the seemingly dead city. Spires and towers were burnt out, some having toppled over. There were ssypno forces in the area, the geckin intel had explained that. Since ssypno equipment was high end and dangerous, it was harder for them to replace it.
Their job was to make this planet expensive for the noble conducting this battle. It was the only language that kind of person understood.
[Scrub, I got a question.]
{Go on.}
[Why ‘Scrub’ of all things?]
When Qik had offhandedly told Casper that her own callsign was ‘Scrub’ she was offended and confused when he barked a single coughing laugh before getting a reign on it. She was deadly serious and rather proud of her callsign. The young man, besides an errant comment, had left it there, but now felt as good a time as any to ask; why ‘Scrub’ of all things?
{Because I scour the battlefield clean. My ops are always described as the cleanest, unless I'm working with someone. They’re always the messy ones.}
[I’m just saying, humans might interpret it differently.]
{You said, but I didn’t spend my career building a name for myself to just change it on a whim. You read?}
[Aye aye Scrub.]
{Right, let's get this done and then we can get paid and you can get a taste of the good life. You ready?}
[When you are.]
Casper urged himself forward as he felt Qik’s ‘blip’ move away to the west, taking a wide route around the edge of the city itself. His ‘feet’ were elongated, turning them into skis that glided across the terrain with amazing ease. His spinal mount, a dedicated jetpack pushed him forwards with vents that could open and close in an instant, allowing him to adjust and change direction with a single thought. He could still walk and run, if he wanted to, but the idea was the ability to lean into the slide and ‘skate’ across the landscape, pushing against the ground with the side of his feet.
The speed at which the city approached and became large, imposing buildings that suddenly dwarfed him, was alarming. He slowed and dropped into a run, then walk, as he made it into the city proper, using the wide streets to fit his mech between the buildings with ease. He kept his blade held low, in both hands, ready to bring it up and swing at a moment’s notice.
Before reaching this planet, Casper had never held a weapon before, but now, with copious amounts of software all feeding him instincts and knowledge that wasn’t his, there was a vague sense of longing for a long range weapon, instead of being limited to the length of his blade.
That said, there was nothing for him to attack. He raised the blade to step around another building before lowering out and ready down the next street, but it was just, yet another, empty thoroughfare.
He didn’t need military software to tell when something felt… off.
[Scrub, do you read?]
{Loud and clear Spectre, what's the situation?}
[Zero contacts. MR isn’t picking anything up and there's nothing in the streets. No sign of any mechanised forces. Are we sure we’re in the right place? Are we getting played?]
Casper couldn’t help but think of the contract the geckins had forced him into. In a desperate need to get something more from the human and his unprecedented lack of drifting when mentally piloting a machine, the geckins had not taken it well when he had expressed he wanted to leave. So much so, the only way for him to ‘win’ his freedom, was to complete the op, without getting disabled. If he wasn’t able to walk away from the op, then the geckins, or more specifically, one of their corpo-nations would *own* Casper outright, changing his designation from a person, to a ‘thing’.
Whilst the geckins hated the ssypno with a passion, a trick or trap to retain access to Casper, might not be outside their morals.
{I wouldn’t put it past the geckins to try something, but if the op is a wash, then they still have to pay us and we’re free and clear. They wouldn’t have fed us bad intel for us to go out here for nothing.}
The Spectre mech peered down street after street, holding the blade out, ready to cut anything that moved or scuttled in half, yet each time; it was devoid of life until he found himself, quite deep into the city.
Closing his optics for a moment, Casper willed himself to send a ping out, searching for *anything* that might show where his enemy was hiding. All he needed as a fraction of movement.
He focused, his mind mentally tuning the sensitiveity of his radar, it sensed the rain, a beehive of noise that was too much, so with an errant twitch of his head, he tuned out the rain. He sensed himself, receiving false reports of a mech, but it was only him. He removed that too. Blind to the outside world, he stayed in place, reaching out with invisible hands, groping blindly for anything.
There were creatures, things that scuttled and things that moved. Living organic creatures of small size. They reminded him of rats, but no rats survived the destruction of Earth to his knowledge. The things were squidgits, vermin if left unchecked, cattle if desired. They scurried and hid in the sewers far beneath Casper’s mech’s feet. Oddly, whilst plenty of the buildings still had these creatures inside, several, were *devoid* of movement. Not a single living thing could be felt by his sensitive suites.
The optics snapped open, and clicked again. Turning his head towards the nearest towering building, he leaned forwards, trying to peer through the destroyed structure to the otherside, but found it dark and unable to see the whole way. This was only one of the nearby buildings that the squidgits avoided for some reason. The building was a husk, burnt out from some unchecked fire, most likely caused by the geckin shelling. The inside was too dark to see anything.
With a mere thought, a floodlight attached to Casper’s head, winked on and bathed the building and its bombed out floors in a brilliant white light.
The sea of cyclops eyes constricted to tiny points as the sea of fisheye lenses reacted to the sudden wash of bright light. In turn, the countless laser cannons strapped to their spines whined as electricity suddenly washed through them.
The MR was suddenly bombarded with with a crowd of movement as the buildings all around Casper came to life.Casper merely ducked as the space his mech had occupied only moments before was dissected by no less than seven beams, all wishing to decapitate him in one fell swoop.
[They’re in the buildings!] He sent frantically, as a wave of scuttling mechanised bots surged from the building and landed on his mech.
Not wanting them on him for a single second, Casper brought his arm up to protect himself and braced his shoulder. Spectre’s main booster, sitting firmly in the dead centre of his back, roared to life and launched the human’s rig into the building and out the other side in a shower of destroyed rebar and materials. The smaller multi-legged technicals were sent flying in all directions, having no hope of holding onto the mech as it punched through a building.
[Jesus!] Casper exclaimed as he turned his head back and watched the buildings suddenly come alive as each floor seemed to disgorge multiples of the round, bulbous, skittering machines in a manner that reminded the man of infestations from Earth. If his rig had skin, the young man was certain it would be crawling.
Remembering his sword, Casper swung it in a downward swipe along the edge of one of the buildings, cutting clean through two with zero feedback as his sword found zero resistance. The metal hulls sparked and fizzled before burning brightly as they fell despite the rain even as they hit the street below.
Bright lines of light lit up the air between the buildings and scorched down the front of Casper’s mech, leaving deep valleys of burnt metal in their wake. Gritting his teeth,a side vent snapped open and a gout of blue flames pushed his mech sideways by pure instinct, breaking line of sight with the swarm and preventing further damage.
{Spectre, report.}
[Contacts! Lots of contacts!]
{I see them, locking on but I need to see more. Just keep moving!}
[They’re crowding me, how are they this organised?!]
{They’re computers, no living crew. They seem smart, but it’s just a swarm. Stick to the plan!}
Casper barely made it to the next intersection where his rig could fit before he saw the bright yellow lines of the spider tank’s weapons cutting into the concrete like material of the surrounding buildings. He practically dove down the next street and picked up the speed again.
As he glided down the road, he saw yet more of the machines breaking through the exterior walls of the buildings and began crawling down towards the ground.
{Head west; towards me. Try and get as many as you can in one long line.}
[Wilco. One conga line, coming up!]
East, North, East, North, South.
Casper used his boosters to jump from corner to corner, flitting from side to side, avoiding and evading the growing crowd that was mere feet behind him. Any building, or even corner of a building that was in his way was destroyed. He felt like a cannonball, fired from its home and would merely bust through anything foolish enough to get in his way.
The bright streaks of line that burnt and destroyed the concrete around him only served to remind him that the enemy was still on his tail. Despite his confidence, he couldn’t let his guard down. Overconfidence would mean his and Qik’s destruction.
West, North, East, North, West.
When he turned down what had to have been a main artery for the destroyed city in the past, Casper could feel that Qik was roughly in front of him in the far distance, she was just on the very edges of his sensor suite’s range. Firing his boosters, his skis slid him down the road until the spider tanks began to pour onto the main thoroughfare from either side.
Using his sword in an upwards sweeping motion, he cut several through their centre mass, but it was a mere handful out of the seemingly endless hoard that was following. He speared several more on the tips themselves, not slowing his escape in the slightest.
From the distance, Casper watched as countless red lights suddenly appeared on the horizon in a beautiful dazzling sunburst. They hung there for a second before the lights turned into red streaks that raced up into the rainy sky, leaving behind white trails of smoke. They then seemingly paused before Casper’s entire early warning system lit up that he was in the direct path of this bombardment, his fiddling with his sensor suite had left him blind to such threats and had him duck in the very last second as they screamed towards their true targets.
They hadn’t been pausing in the sky, they were arcing towards him.
Spectre leaned forward, nearly toppling forwards, and willed itself onwards, increasing its speed until it began to pull away from the amazingly agile spider tanks.
Moments later, Casper could see the bright flashes of explosions somewhere behind him illuminate the surrounding buildings for a brief second. That didn’t matter. If it was behind him, it wasn’t hitting *him*. Relief washed over him as several of the moving, angry ‘blips’ that had been racing after him winked out of existence.
{Brilliant! Just got a few to mop up, but that was excellent!} Qik sent, as Casper rapidly approached where she waited at the city’s edge. From her bulky torso, several flaps opened as he approached and yet more of the red lights were launched from her. The lights were the burners for the rockets that streaked into the sky before taking a harsh turn and streaking into the city, where Casper suspected that they would rapidly meet some of the creepy, crawling tanks.
The Spectre mech shuddered as one, its various metal parts and hydraulics complaining with a loud crash. Scrub ponderous turned to face Spectre expectantly as the remaining targets seemed reluctant to approach, having had their numbers vastly cut down.
[I hate those things!]
{Yeah, MGUs or AATMGUs to be correct. Automated, all terrain mechanised guard units. Nobody likes them, they’re annoying to get out of an area because you have to expose yourself.}
The two machines stood there a moment, facing the city, scanning for any of the MGUs that decided to pop their head out. Whilst they were constantly scuttling, demanding both of their attention, they were staying out of sight for the moment.
{Thanks for being bait.} Qik sent without prompting. Having Casper’s head turn to face her.
[No worries, I knew you had my back.]
{Always.}
Casper was turning to look back into the city and question if they were going to have to mop up the remaining MGU when there was a flicker of a ‘blip’ in his mind’s eye. He had messed with so much of the sensor suite’s settings and was so focused on the city that he couldn’t make out what he was perceiving straight away.
He didn’t even get a chance to send the [What was that?] as a long missile streaked into the side of Qik’s mech, forcibly sending the rig into the buildings and launching Casper backwards with the force of the blast. He rolled in the air, having his legs go over his head, supported by the jets as they turned him rapidly until the bottom of his skis slapped against the ground again. Sparks and debris flew up into the air as his optics searched for the threat, all the while his sensors pinged Scrub.
Casper watched as a new machine, undetected by his own system until now, flew in from the sky. It had solid wings that jutted out of its back, but before he could even observe more of the aircraft, it flew low, close to the ground before it unfolded into a mech, skidding to a halt at the city’s outskirts.
Two study legs slammed into the asphalt of the landscape. Its arms unfurled and without saying a word or even hesitating for a moment, the two arms opened fire with a rain of flashing lasers that peppered the surrounding buildings and Casper’s mech with hits.
The strikes were damaging, several connections and wires were burnt and fused instantly, forcing Casper to reroute connections and energy as he spun away from the gunfire and slipped into the city. Pressing his back against the building that weathered the new storm from the new threat.
He turned his head and saw the smoking remains of Scrub, the mech that contained Qik. Her legs were missing and the torso portion was scorched all along one side. She had been through into a now collapsed building. She didn’t move.
[Qik?] He sent, dumbfounded as laserfire continued over the sound of sizzling rain.
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Just a bit of fun that came to mind. I'm not a writer and I'm sure that shows. No worries - just read and enjoy!
----------
Carl walked through the empty halls of the half-finished palace. A week ago, this had been bustling with workers, guards, masters and slaves. Today it was a ghost town. His footsteps resounded through the marbled halls as he approached the throne room. He stopped in front of the door and examined the guards critically. Vomit, phlegm and worse marked them and the area surrounding their stations. One lay still on the floor, the other swayed in place, barely able to remain standing. They were Pulash, the most loyal of the races that served the Klashat.
“You cannot …. Cannot … can…” The Pulash tried to ready its weapon and Carl drew his pistol. The guard faltered and stumbled before finally collapsing into a heap. It coughed up a gout of phlegm and pus, shuddered and then lay still. Carl looked at the guard for a moment, the pistol still aimed at its head. After a moment he relaxed and holstered his pistol. The guard had finally succumbed.
Carl stepped around the guards and slipped through the partially open doors into the throne room. There were more Pulash guards inside. He looked at them critically for a moment and decided that they had all succumbed as well. Once satisfied he turned his attention to the seven-foot-tall reptilian being reclining on the “throne”. He walked forward, footsteps clicking on the marbled surface. Hearing his approach, the Klashat on the throne turned and tasted the air.
“You! You have done this!” the Klashat stirred and then coughed violently. “Tell me what you have done, slave – and I may give you the honor of being my feast for tonight.”
“No one will be feasting on me tonight.” Carl replied calmly. He paused for a minute to examine the being that had claimed this planet as their private property and had set herself up as ‘Diakat’ or planetary ruler. At just over seven feet tall, heavily muscled and much faster than a human, the Klashat were a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. This one, however was no threat to anyone. Its body and the throne were covered in vile fluids and its eyes were cloudy. Carl presumed that it could no longer see.
“We told you not to come here.” Carl replied calmly.
“Guards! Take this one!”
“They’re all dead.” Carl replied calmly. “We told you not to come here. Do you remember what we told you?”
​
“You will suffer for this!” With great effort, the Klashat raised itself up and tried to call out the battle cry that had terrified so many. Instead the Klashat started a violent coughing fit, ending in it vomiting and falling to one knee. It spoke again, its voice hoarse. “What did you do to me?”
Ildisit closed her eyes and recalled the early translations of the native’s feeble attempts at communications. “Little Warriors” was the term they had used as a threat. Didn’t these stupid primitives know that size and strength mattered? A full grown noble Klashat would not fall to “little warriors”. She had responded by bombing several of their cities and then leading the invasion herself. The initial push had been relatively easy, but the primitives had responded in unexpected ways. If she’d had any idea of how troublesome they were going to be she would have exterminated them all. Still, she had profited greatly from their sale as slaves. Her thoughts turned back to the present. Tasting the air to locate the pest, she croaked out. “You threatened us with little warriors. How stupid could you be to think that little warriors could stand against a noble Klashat.”
“And yet here we are.” Carl replied calmly. “As I said, your guards and servants are dead. You are one of the few remaining invaders still living.”
Ildisit tasted the air again. The tang of vomit and other bodily fluids told the truth of the pest’s statement. “I know your taste in the air, and I know your voice. You were one that we trusted, that we taught to speak a civilized language. How did you do this to us? How could your little warriors bring down such a superior species?”
“Little warriors? Is that how you translated our warning? That might explain your ignoring everything we tried to tell you.” Carl mused. “The proper terms are ‘viruses’, ‘bacteria’ and ‘fungi’. We call their effects ‘disease’. They exist naturally in the environment. All you had to do was come here and breath.”
Carl’s frank admission stunned Ildisit. “Why did you not tell us this before? How could you hide this from us after we elevated you?”
“How could I do this to you?” Carl’s calm voice turned harsh. “You bombed our cities, invaded our planet and sold our people as slaves. You eat sentient beings. You deserve this and more. No civilized people acts like you do.”
“Fools!” Ildisit responded. “You are stupid primitives who understand nothing. If you had the slightest bit of intelligence much of the destruction and deaths of your people could have been avoided. Your deaths are on your heads for being stupid enough to defy a superior species! We are the apex of the food chain and all exist to appease and to feed us”. Ildisit ended her speech with a violent coughing fit. Blood and mucus were filling her lungs and she realized that she had not long left to live. “My people will come and destroy you for what you’ve done.” She coughed again. “This planet will be cleansed of you and your paltry excuse for a civilization and then will be … be …” Her mind was slowing and she struggled for the right word. “… Sequestered. Your world will be sequestered. Forever cut off from the larger community of races.” The last of her strength finally began to fail her.
“You are wrong.” Carl said flatly. “We could not stop you selling our people as slaves. But we could turn them into weapons. We infected them with the most lethal diseases we could create. Made sure that the incubation times were long enough to ensure that they were fully in place before the diseases started having any effect.”
“You made these 'diseases'?” Ildisit asked, shocked.
“Yes, we did.” Carl admitted coolly. “They’ve plagued us for millenia and we have studied them in detail. What makes them lethal. What makes them contagious. We crafted viruses and bacteria based on lethality studies on invaders that we captured, then made sure all the slaves you exported were carriers.”
Despite her failing condition, Ildisit was shocked at the pest’s admission. “You would inflict this on billions of your superiors – and then call us uncivilized?”
“We have spent your occupation studying you extensively. We crafted our diseases to target ‘master’ species and those few that support them. We believe that most of your slave species will suffer little, if at all. Also, we now have your ships and your technology.”
Ildisit laughed, a sharp bark that quickly devolved into a violent coughing fit. “A good bluff, but it will do you no good. Even in my state I can see through you. You could not even begin to understand our technology, let alone fly any of our ships.” She paused for effect. “When my Admiral fails to hear from me, he will scourge this wretched excuse of a planet and avenge my death.”
Carl considered the dying, erstwhile ruler of the planet. “Do you know why I came today? At this time?” He paused. “I came because I received word that we had taken the fleet. All the ships in orbit and all those on the ground are now in our control. All your troops and servants are dead. Your civilization will be in shambles before anyone can do anything about it. There will be no revenge.”
Carl watched as the Klashat shuddered and struggled to breathe. The end was very close. “You did elevate me, after all, so I wanted to tell you personally. In fact, it was your elevation of myself and other humans that allowed much of this to happen. Your certainty of your superiority blinded you to our actions. That, and your complete ignorance of covert operations made this whole thing possible.” He reached out and patted her arm. “You made all this possible. Just thought you’d want to know.”

I sincerely hate you, and I don’t use that word lightly. But the instant dread I feel when I get that first tingle and heat lets me know it’s going to be a long week & I’m saying that politely. So fuck you gout & your pain I can’t withstand constant throbbing and the hobbling “Its just a sprained ankle” to those who don’t understand. Just hand me the Indomethacin I don’t need to be diagnosed Doc, i’ll take any type of medicine I’ve only slept two hours at most.
So fuck you gout, and how you make me suffer But this battle only makes our community tougher.
Sincerely,
A 33 year old 7 year gout hater.

First Previous Wiki
Progenitor Nova wandered back down deep into the Source's domain. The mindscape itself was always turbulent at the deepest levels, and Nova had acclimated himself accordingly to the location by balancing his psychic energy. The massive skeleton of bones representing the Source's old corpse was entirely overhead, with only a portion of the white bone ribcage peeking out of the bottom of the floor above him.
Thick waves of psychic energy sometimes coalesced into something more. Thick serpentine creatures, the vengeful remnants of long-dead Sprilnav, rushed at him from all sides. It was rare for that to happen, but the mindscape around Earth's location was somewhat more active due to the Alliance's psychic amplifiers.
Nova vaporized them by the thousands. Where once each of them had been the equivalent of a few billion minds, now they were nothing but half-animal monsters. Nova would not spare them even a flick of his claws.
They were weak things, too. Even Elders would be more than capable of battling them by the thousands, as they'd been designed to do. The conceptual energy running through the Elders' veins helped to keep them prepared against any threats. And if necessary, Nova and the Progenitors would flood the oldest Sprilnav that didn't quite fit as Elders with that same energy in the event of a war.
Nova felt the Source's eyes upon him. Servants flowed around the area, though Nova could easily kill every single being that wasn't the Source here. He barely paid them any attention as his feet crossed over the dense psychic rock. Frozen psychic energy was crystallizing around him, and he took it in, refreshing and rejuvenating himself. His skin flashed with energy, and his claws glowed like stars.
And then Nova found himself before the Source. The massive being was concentrated today. Most of its non-visible existence was still ballooning outward, but a set of four-lidded eyes rested upon a short snout that flashed between metal, crystal, fur, spines, scales, and skin. It was none of those things and all of them at once.
Nova didn't kneel. He continued to walk, braving the pressure until he was physically close enough to touch the Source. And so he did. He wrapped it in his embrace.
"Nova," the Source said. "You're late."
"Yes," he said. "I'm glad to see you again, though. You're a light in these dark times."
"What troubles you?"
"I'm sure you know," Nova replied.
"The conceptual limitations?"
"No," Nova replied. "I understand them. I have been... a bit too active in the matters of the universe, and I should not have been. You deserve to see the truth on that, and the truth of my feelings."
"I see some of that. Your people stumble in the darkness. And I cannot enlighten you, due to my own limits."
"Yes. But it's not only that," Nova replied. "It is Lecalicus and Twilight. They are gravely injured. And I watched Penny's feeble attempt at healing him. What Death did to them... it was cruel."
"Yes, it was," the Source agreed. "But that is why he did it. To give Progenitors the fear of retribution for recklessness. And we are no strangers to cruel actions, are we, Nova?"
"No," he conceded. "And I know no apologies will ever atone for my crimes in the war. But is there something I can do to heal them?"
"You would risk that?"
"Yes," Nova said. "Both of them deserve it. Lecalicus... he is the oldest Sprilnav alive. From the very first world we ever lived on. He is valuable beyond belief just in what he represents. He is not just the Beast, as you most likely know. He's Hope's son."
"Unfortunately, there is little I can do for you," the Source said. "If I were to directly oppose Death's power, it would open up unpleasant consequences for all of us. And not even I can fully overturn him. The evidence of our last battle rests above us."
"The bones," Nova agreed. "But can you at least tell me if they will survive it? If there is still hope at all?"
"Nova," the Source said. "Do not despair."
"I really expected her to do something, you know," he said softly. "If Penny could have healed him, then maybe... there would have been another way."
"You assume that the conclusion is forgone. It is not."
"Yes, it is," Nova replied. "It would take many more followers than Penny has to even approach the level of power required to lift that punishment. It would be a boon of a level not seen in over a billion years from an alien to a Progenitor. Proof that we can work together."
"And why would that be proof, when all her other efforts are not?"
"Because of the politics around her. Even we must dance around her with our influences. She's destroyed Elder Azeri in all ways that matter. And even now, the leaders of Humanity seek to sanction her for the crimes of trying to help the Sprilnav in the ways she saw fit, after losing her father. I can sympathise with that, you know."
"Yet you have been against her."
The Source settled in on itself, fashioning a cushioned seat that deformed under its weight. The fact that the seat merely deformed under that weight meant it was a stronger material than even the specially enhanced neutronium making up the hulls of the Grand Fleet's flagships.
Even by bending physics to its limits, there were still some things the modern Sprilnav could not do. And being capable of withstanding the weight of a few million stars was far outside those limits. Even then, the Source's weight was basically just a psychic mass.
By all accounts, the Source was what an AI that reached singularity would look like if it had still been made of typical energy. Yet the Source was not an AI in any way. Such a descriptor failed the Source in ways too numerous to list.
"I must be. You know that."
If Nova didn't maintain a semblance of balance, others would come in and do it. Some of the Elders were also concept entities, but they did shoddy jobs at well... anything. And Nova did not wish to deal with them if he did not have to. Nor did he wish for the Broken God's emissaries to be allowed to carry out the same task.
"I do, but it is still quite hypocritical to complain considering that."
"It is," Nova agreed. "I am an emotional person. All of us are. I could sense Lecalicus' pain when I looked at him," he said. "It was... terrifying. Because I know that if Death were to do that to me, I would likely slit my own throat and throw myself into a black hole to escape it. Lecalicus is stronger than me, and I could see how close he was to doing the same. His relationship with Space is still too frayed to properly anchor him to reality, now that he is sane again. His insanity was the tool that kept him from death, and now it is gone once again. If Space is not enough, Lecalicus will cling to the next-best option."
"You think he loves Penny? I do not see hints of that in his mind."
"He cares for her, certainly. Enough to come to see her at great cost to himself mentally. I think he might see her as a child of his. Perhaps a daughter, like how Nilnacrawla does. And she does clearly inspire a protective instinct in a few Elders."
"Penny's lineage is well-known," the Source said. "Or rather the lack of it is. And even Humanity itself only bears my influence in the way other species usually do. The hivemind is a special thing. As for Lecalicus, I only agree with your assessment that he will use her to cope with depression and pain."
"And the logical progression of my point is that if Penny dies, Lecalicus will likely convince himself there is no hope left for the universe and kill himself. Can you prevent that, if it comes to it?"
"It would be considered interference, and go against my ideals of freedom of will for all beings. But for you, I might do this, Nova. Only to give you an opportunity to talk with him. If you do not convince him otherwise, you must let him go."
"With him would go the last legacy of our people," Nova said. "I don't know what I would do with myself. If I were to die, would you still remain?"
"I do not know. I cannot live within my own afterlife. And this entire topic is depressing to discuss, Nova. Are you truly so far gone? Are the Progenitors?"
"For the most part. We sleep so we can regain and maintain energy, while also not having to think about what we lost. I hate this all. Entropy. The Broken God. Time. Death. What right do they have to cause such suffering?"
"They embody concepts. Time and Death especially have little agency in what they can do. It would be akin to being upset with an animal for consuming food. Do you truly hate them?"
"Entropy is the one I hate the most. She actively interferes the most."
The Source looked up at the sky. Nova could sense it keeping Entropy away from them so they could have a measurably private conversation. And then the Source looked back at Nova, noticing the tears in his eyes. The fate of Lecalicus distressed him the most of all, especially because of how random and pointless Death's attack had been. All it had done was make a proud being weak and miserable.
The fate of them was a tragedy.
"The worst part about this all is that Lecalicus is right," Nova finally said. "Hope is dead. My beloved civilization rots in the darkness of space. The Secondary Galaxy wars, while the Primary Galaxy lingers. Do you have any hope, Source? Can you truly say, with all the power of your belief, that things will get better for any of us?"
"I cannot," it admitted. "I am not omniscient. I can only have my own hope that Penny is capable enough."
"And that is what makes this worse. You're the most powerful thing in the universe, and you can't change this."
"I'm not entirely in this universe, Nova. The war ensured the divide will remain. My power increased the further away from reality, and closer into the Deep, that we go. And I must keep that realm separate from all life or Death will go on the warpath, like the last time you tried to visit."
"She was my only true sister," Nova said, bringing his head to rest on the ground. "That loss claws at me every day, and I've sealed most of my memories."
"I am not berating you, Nova. I would have done the same thing. But you can rest assured that if you die, and I remain alive, you will see her again, in the afterlife."
He let out a huff of amusement.
"What?"
"I'm just thinking of the time when I told that one cult that the afterlife was real."
"Cult?"
"Some religious thing on some backwater planet," Nova said. "They activated a nuclear bomb after thanking me for it."
"And you believe that's funny?" the Source asked.
"Somewhat. And in this universe, or rather these... two and a half galaxies? There's not much to do but either laugh or cry. I've already cried."
"Understandable. Sadly, you are still needed in normal space."
"Sadly? You would like me to stay here longer?"
"It is lonely here," the Source said. "The Servants can't help but be deferential to me. And you generally are too proud for that. We can at least talk as equals, even if the situation is different."
"Well, if I was the lord of an entire dimension, perhaps I'd get lonely too, speaking to my underlings. But there is another option."
"If I take a physical form, it leaves me open to the forces of the universe. I would have to deal with lifeforms that I do not find entertaining. Then the Broken God could do the same, or send a member of his Pantheon into real space."
"We wouldn't have to worry about that," Nova replied. "I can kill any of them, too."
"You can, if you would like to start a new interdimensional war, against a force that also controls your most widespread and cost-effective method of FTL travel."
"There's more options," Nova replied. "Wormholes and jump space. One of us Progenitors could also do the job ourselves."
"And you think that's enough?"
"The string drive is."
"Which your species doesn't produce or use any longer."
"Which we have treaties amongst ourselves to ban because they would make wars too devastating. We all maintain the capabilities to generate them, though Progenitors alone hold the final pieces of the fuel generation method. We have ways to fight, rest assured. And there is the Final Solution, too."
"Ah yes. I'm sure the Broken God would be defeated by such a simple device."
"A false vacuum field that turns the infinities of speeding space into a single zero, erasing the entire realm? Yes, I'm sure that will be easy to stop."
"I could."
"But could you stop all of the bombs, even the ones in the depths of intergalactic space, and in the now-desolate galaxies we once ruled? Billions of those bombs?"
"Maybe," the Source said. "It wouldn't work on the mindscape anymore. The hypo-psychic plane is gone already."
"And the fact that technically you are the entire mindscape, and are basically the concept entity for all of thought."
"Conceptual Thought is a separate being."
"Was. He's dead."
"His consciousness is dead. His concept is alive, obviously. I am more powerful, of course."
Nova smiled. "Of course. Good thing it's only me with an ego."
"Yes. Now, do you want me to be your therapist, or are you going to go back to your land of rules and responsibilities?"
"I will ponder that matter."
"Ponder it, then."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"What is it?" Justicar asked, casting his perception down to the Justicar Security Agency as a particularly worried thought made its way over to him.
"Elder, there is increased chatter between a section of the 85th Grand Fleet and a known gang outpost."
"Have we decrypted any of it?"
"Most of it, in fact. It details a plan to attack the slaves."
"The ship Penny made is behind my planet," Justicar said. "It would be impossible for them to reach it before they are stopped."
"But that is what they have said. I offer no other explanations, though," the agent said. The Sprilnav's eyes flashed around warily as if Justicar was going to punish him. But Justicar had been served well by following the intelligence he received on matters such as this.
And a Grand Fleet's attack was not something he could reasonably stop. The only solace he had was that Valisada would not commit to such an action against him. It wasn't just something that would get him executed in the most painful way imaginable. It also would run counter to Valisada's direct interests.
And Justicar had a profile on the man. Nothing suggested such an action would be taken, so he suspected that the portion of the 85th Grand Fleet was not the entire thing. At most, it would only be a dreadnaught battlegroup. And while such a thing could be devastating, he could survive it.
"The yield on a Grand Fleet dreadnaught's cannons is enough to break our shields with ease," Justicar said. "We have little time."
He looked into the mindscape, casting his consciousness to the location of the station the agent had identified. More agents were coming to him now, detailing the likelihood of an impending attack. Justicar told them to record their thoughts for him to peruse.
He landed in front of the station in the mindscape. Its psychic shields went up. Justicar summoned his full might and smashed against it. A shield broke. Then three. Then the rest. And Justicar entered. He found no Elders, but the normal Sprilnav in the place was raided one by one. He scanned the entirety of their memories, as he reserved the right to do to any Sprilnav inside his star system.
And the fragments started to take shape. Justicar sent orders to the cities to activate their shields and prepare for battle. He had the orbital defense platforms move to standby, and the Grand Fleet in orbit of his planet also began to activate itself. Smaller institutions got the hint. All across the planet, evacuation sirens sounded. Guides forced their way into known gang territories remaining, killing those who resisted to make room for the massing hordes of panicking Sprilnav just above.
In the mindscape, Justicar returned to the planet, crouching over all of it in preparation for an unknown foe.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Dreadnaught Captain Elder Solei waited for the payment to process before committing. His unknown client would need to hold their end of the deal before anything was done. And so he continued to wait, disconnecting his ships from the broader fleet-wide network, as he started to reposition his dreadnaught battlegroup. The account notified him with a buzz in his implant.
Solei checked on the numbers. 5 quadrillion credits, just as he'd asked, with a hefty tip attached. He transferred the payment to his family's joint account and sent the final videos to his children. With a heart freed from sorrow, Solei gave the Captain an order that would change history.
Magnetic rounds roared out of the barrels of battlecruisers. Many of them were unexpectedly intercepted, but some of them still found their marks. Eight holes large enough to fly a fleet through opened in Justicar's outer shield layers, the destabilization propagation warheads having done their terrible work. Solei took advantage of the first strike quickly.
Massive orbital lasers flew through the gaping wounds in the shields. Their impacts sent light, heat, and radiation erupting across half the night sky of the planet. Orbital platforms fell to pieces, melted and blown apart, even as their lasers impacted far more rapidly than expected on his shields.
Satellite connections fizzled and died under the onslaught. Cargo ships, their shields unable to handle the massive strike, fell upon the lower shields, skittering on them and then falling again as their components failed. Solei waited to see how the attack was progressing before authorizing a larger strike.
"All forces, commence your attack as ordered! Formation 7!" Solei said. Some of his guards shifted uneasily, but they weren't Elders. They couldn't stop him from ensuring that Azeri was put back in his place as Yasihaut had promised.
His portion of the 85th Grand Fleet broke away, heading toward the plant at their maximum possible speed. The rest of the Grand Fleet didn't move, which was unexpected. The Dreadnaught Captain's implant chimed with a call.
"What are you doing!?" The Interim Grand Fleet Commander shouted impudently. Due to safe-guards, there was no ability for him to remotely shut down Solei's dreadnaught. So all he could do was yell.
"I'm getting our real Fleet Commander freed!" Solei replied. He blocked Valisada from entering his network after that. Zero-point energy cannons unloaded onto Justicar, erasing everything they struck. Only the city shields kept the entire planet from being flattened. Block by block, quadrant by quadrant, the march of orbital laser fire continued.
Missiles launched from the orbital defense platforms orbiting Justicar. Massive beams of energy followed, destroying the frigates and the destroyers quickly. Their shields wore down.
Thick swarms of drones erupted from the defense platforms, as well as hails of nuclear missiles. They traveled slower but still managed to reach the shields to nearly blanket the ship's optical sensors in white. The shields' outputs were tweaked to accommodate the effect.
Solei continued his drive into the heart of the corruption responsible for his true Grand Fleet Commander's downfall. He'd see it all righted, for sure. Penny would take the fall, and her entire species would be wiped out like the vermin they were.
The Grand Fleet in orbit around Justicar responded to his attack quickly. Engines roared to life, spinning massive hulls to face him with full spinal laser cannons. The barrels were larger than entire fighters' lengths in some cases, and the thick beams of energy they spouted were bright enough the space dust they impacted made them glow brightly.
Surface-to-air lasers on the fringes of the city Solei had targeted were firing in great batteries, ten by ten. His battlecruisers and carriers absorbed the punishing hits before even reaching the dreadnaught he was standing in.
Massive clouds of negative energy erupted from the enemy battlecruisers, absorbing the gouts of fire that Solei continued to pour down upon the stricken planet below. Thick clouds of dust and smoke, glowing with fire and molten metal illumination, were now covering the ground in thick sheets. His AIs were blocking all attempts at hacking, and his communicator could not receive messages since he was jamming every frequency he could.
Justicar roused himself like an angry god in the mindscape, battering down on Solei's dreadnaught. His giant fists crashed into the psychic shield, sending flares of sparks across it where they met. They were accompanied by thunderous bangs and Justicar's furious roaring. His roars killed everything near him, shattering the rocky spires of the mindscape and making dust rise into the air. Justicar's fury was great and terrible, but it paled before the might of a Grand Fleet's dreadnaught. Some things were too powerful to ever fully overcome.
The mindscape boiled like a sea. Both Kashaunta and Azeri's Grand Fleets fired, focusing on his dreadnaught. Particle cannons and lasers gathered from zero-point reactors pierced his shields, cutting through the ship's hull like butter. Solei's dreadnaught started to drift down its engines, no longer able to keep it in orbit above Justicar due to their damage.
Everything spun around him, and several fragments of metal lodged in his spacesuit. "Sir," a guard said. "Please... they are innocent."
"Justicar has committed a great sin against our people, and he will be punished righteously for it," Dreadnaught Captain Solei declared.
The guards leveled their guns at him.
"You are no longer fit to command-"
Solei used his implant to freeze them in place. None of them fired by the time all of their implants had shut down their muscle systems, leaving them unable to do more than stare dumbly at him.
"With my death, my family will be rich beyond measure," Solei said. "They will be capable of owning their own futures, forever. I have lived long enough."
In the mindscape, Justicar released a mighty blow on the psychic shield. This time, it broke apart. Solei noticed a secondary impact on the shield in real space and the psychic shield, with an explosion so devastating that it was sending ripples of heated psychic energy rushing ahead of its burning wake.
Justicar's body rushed into the broken shield. He fell upon the battle group like a mountain, killing everyone inside without mercy. Gigantic claws ripped away entire cruisers' worth of minds. A thousand limbs swept away the smaller psychic shields in the battlecruisers, breaking them one by one before tossing them into jaws that gnashed with red hatred on his arms.
And then that hateful gaze fixated on him. The massive Elder planted his feet into the mindscape, sending more shockwaves of dust and a small sea of rock rushing out in front of him. A thousand psychic blasts rippled behind Justicar, sending him forward at a blinding speed. His gargantuan mouth opened wide and would plunge into the rock around Solei and soon devour him whole.
Justicar's massive fangs met the rock with a crunch of shattering stone. The Elder moved to tear Solei's mind out of his body, but it was too late. When Justicar bit down, further scouring the rock beneath Solei with great furrows, Dreadnaught Captain Solei had already inverted the closest antimatter reactor's containment field.
"Cardinality: One to zero. Reversal."
The words were not spoken fast enough to have stopped what happened. And yet, conceptual energy reached out to the erupting energy and halted its advance, freezing it somehow in place. The blinding explosion meant to destroy him and all the evidence suddenly stopped.
And so it was that Justicar's fangs crunched into Solei's body, cracking his ribs like sticks and sending fountains of blood and gore spraying out in all directions. At the same time, he was infused with psychic energy. A thousand swords collapsed down onto his mind, tearing him apart almost instantly.
Justicar lifted his head, rocks falling gently from his mouth. Blood was mixed within. But Solei had not died. Not yet. Justicar ravaged his mind, searching desperately for the perpetrator of the attack. And when he found none, the resulting roar shook the mindscape once more. His furious rage turned again on Solei, pressing a spinning mess of saws and blades against his feet. They shredded Solei quickly and brutally.
In reality, the explosion continued once again. Pure energy erased his physical body entirely, cracking the dreadnaught in two. The two halves of the ship were vaporized by the Grand Fleet in orbit, leaving nothing left of Solei but his legacy of fires and ash far below.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Hive Emperor Calanii waited aboard his palace in orbit around Ashurii, the capital planet of the Vinarii Empire. Now that the Senate Leader traitors had been run off, and the Royal Navy hunted them across the stars, he could rest easier knowing that they could no longer threaten the Empire.
The VI finished processing his 'statement on the traitors' and showed it to him. He read it carefully and then approved it to be sent to the Bureau of Bureaucracy. They'd publish it soon, with the support of the New Senate.
The Hive Queens and Hive Kings now no longer had any choice but to support him. Using the full might of his position as Emperor, he had thoroughly squashed much of the growing dissent that the disillusioned Kings and Queens were stirring up. Behind closed doors, he also offered them more lucrative deals for vocalizing their support.
Now, his own state-backed Senators held a sizable portion of the voting block, roughly 130, now that he'd called for new elections. They'd been watched closely to prevent outside interference, and Calanii ensured that everyone knew what the stakes were. So soon after the march on the palace and the old Senate Leaders' rebellion, tempers were high. It was hard for many Vinarii not to see him as a good Emperor, with how gently he'd treated those who were part of the marches.
There were only small fines for loitering and unruly behavior. No draconian prison sentences, no public torture and executions, or heated debates. However, a few ongoing trials were still incredibly hot issues. The VIs showed that discussion over the Maliqnar trial was starting to dominate online discussion. Since she was one of the Senate Leaders, it was more contentious than usual.
Of course, typically, the defendants were present for their trials, but treason and open and ongoing sedition represented a unique problem and were thus accompanied by unique rules for things like trials. Calanii had ensured that he didn't violate any rights that he absolutely had to. He didn't want to look too authoritarian when it came to making the hammer fall.
But a correction had been needed, and thus, it was given. A communicator chimed with a message. He leaned over to read it and tapped 'accept' on the bottom.
A hologram appeared of Plix'xma, the leader of the Bureau of Scientific Studies, a Rank 12 Hive Queen. She was wearing a hologram band around her neck, which allowed for relatively easy viewing of an omnidirectional hologram or for projection of it wherever it needed to be. It wasn't as useful as it could be because of the power requirements and the weight, making it useless for regular Vinarii, but Plix'xma had gotten a fair bit of use out of it.
Beneath the hologram ring, her gray carapace was mostly covered by a blue jumpsuit, overlaid with ceremonial armor on her legs and back which carried green circuit designs on it. A small headpiece on her head showed the flag of the Vinarii Empire. It once had been Ashnad'darii's face, which had been replaced with a stylized image of an average Vinarii head from the front view, with a pure yellow background on all the rest.
"Patriotic today, I see," Calanii remarked.
Plix'xma bowed slightly, a smile gracing her face.
"Indeed, just like every day, Hive Emperor. Know that I stand with you in whatever you require, though important tasks still do take time."
"I apologise for the mess with the terraforming bacteria. It was too much to ask for you to do so quickly."
"Well, the specific problems were... yeah, you probably don't care," she said. "But hey! We all learned something from it, right?"
"Uh, sure, Plix'xma."
"Is Ashnav'viinir doing well?"
"Yes. She is exercising right now in the flight room."
"I so enjoyed your coronation," Plix'xma said. "I'm glad that things are better between you two."
"She told you?"
"I kind of... prodded a little."
She'd always had an unnatural fascination with the 'royal' drama. It wasn't a serious concern, though it could get annoying at times. But she was certainly keeping it together, even if it seemed to be growing in intensity recently. Her character profile certainly showed that.
"Alright. Well, we both know I'm here for something. So I'm going to lay it out. The Sprilnav might be going to real war soon, and it's luckily a civil one. There's reports coming out from the main espionage agencies on the front still. But what I need you to do is to unseal the Siia'amiesa Files, read them, and begin the steps outlined there."
"We're unsealing Doomsday Plan 15!?"
The names really were terrible. Ashnad'darii continued to bite him, even after all this time.
"Yes, we are. I give my authorization as Hive Emperor."
"How bad are things getting, then?"
"Very. I will send a missive to the Alliance as well. We must all prepare for what is coming."

The first thing people noticed about Saklas was his metal teeth. Coated in steel, his long, sharp, silvery teeth always gleamed when he smiled.
Saklas was an albino. His pink eyes and colorless skin looked slightly inhuman, especially on such a large, muscular body. I never saw him come out in the daytime. Perhaps the light hurt his eyes. He always wore trench coats and black jeans and boots. It appeared that he shaved all the hair on his head. It made his chalk-white skull seem to throb in the darkness like a mutated, fleshy egg.
“That guy gives me the creeps,” my girlfriend, Stacey, said as she stared out the window of our trailer park, seeing him disappear down one of the side-streets. Her chestnut-colored hair hung over her back in a French braid. Her dark eyes narrowed as she looked out into the night.
“I think he gives us all the creeps,” I said, shrugging and taking a sip of the steaming cup of coffee I held in my hand. “He walks around here every night, though. What can you do?”
“You could get a gun,” Stacey said, glancing over at me. I sighed.
“I don’t want a gun. They’re dangerous,” I said. “You’re far more likely to accidentally shoot a family member than…” But my words were cut off by a blood-curdling scream from outside. I jumped. The coffee cup fell to the floor. I saw it tumbling, the burning liquid spilling out all over my legs and slippered feet. I gasped, stumbling back.
“God dammit!” I yelled, looking up at Stacey. Her face had gone pale as she continued to stare out the window. I saw her hands trembling, her fingers clenching into fists. Her eyes had widened to the size of dinner plates. I took a few stiff steps towards her, putting my hand on her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” I hissed, looking out the window. I saw an old woman back-pedaling away from a chubby man with cream-colored skin and silvery orbs for eyes. He hissed like some sort of rabid animal, showing the two long, curving vampiric teeth that stabbed out of his mottled, white gums.
The old woman swung a heavy purse in front of her body over and over, shrieking in a cantankerous voice. Streams of blood flowed from bite marks on her neck and shoulder. Her white nightgown had become soaked in wet, crimson blotches that clung to her skinny, bony body. The man laughed, a sound like a freezing wind blowing through a graveyard. His voice echoed through the park, sounding raspy and diseased.
“You are surrounded,” he said in a thick accent. “Nowhere to run…”
“Leave me alone!” she yelled in a quavering voice. “Get away, you lunatic! I’m calling the cops!” His hand shot out in a blur and grabbed her wrist. The snapping of bones reverberated down the street. I felt sick as I listened to her frantic shrieks fill the air. Shards of bone stabbed through the skin of her wrist. Her right hand nearly touched the back of her arm. Bright streams of arterial blood spurted from the destroyed limb. She raised her bloody hand in front of her face, staring at it in amazement and horror. I watched her fall back onto the concrete. It all seemed to happen in slow motion.
The vampiric abomination lunged forward in a blur. His long fingers came up, wrapping around her hair. He twisted her head back. She looked like a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. His curving fangs bit through the skin of her neck. As her eyes rolled back in her head and her screams faded to nothing, he drank.
***
I ran around the trailer, locking all the doors and windows. Dark, skulking silhouettes passed by on all sides, hissing to each other in strange, foreign tongues. At that moment, the power cut out. We were plunged into total darkness.
“Shit!” I swore, stumbling into a table. Stacey was nearby, trying to get the police on the line. She held the cell phone close to her ear, whispering as if we were in a graveyard. After a few moments, I heard her murmuring words float through the shadows.
“Yes, hello? My name is Stacey Kitman. We need help immediately. Somebody has been murdered outside. Send help to the Granite Pond Trailer Park, unit 777…” Her voice was cut off by the sound of shattering glass. She screamed. I heard the phone fall to the ground with a clatter. It landed screen-up, and its dim light continued to allow me to see faintly across the room. Stacey’s chalk-white face hovered in front of the smashed window. She choked, gagging and fighting. Wrapped around her neck, I saw a pale, emaciated arm with black, claw-like nails.
***
A few moments later, I heard the locked front door break open with a single, powerful blow. Standing there stood Saklas with his grinning, metal teeth, silhouetted in the moonlight like a pale demon rising out of Hell.
Behind him loomed a dozen of those vampiric abominations with eyes like pale moonlight. There were blacks, whites and olive-skinned complexions among the changed. A few vampiric women stood in the crowd, fresh blood dripping from their fangs. I even saw a little girl among the undead. Stacey’s eyes bulged out of her head. She tried to scream, but the arm tightened around her throat, choking off her air. On the floor, I heard the faint voice of the 911 operator calling out from the other end from the cell phone.
As Saklas stepped forward triumphantly, I knew we were doomed. I saw death in his cold gaze and in his iron grin. Stacey gave a choked gasp. Tears streamed down her face. She silently sobbed, her back held tightly against the wall as she faced down her doom.
“Oh, I’m really sorry about all this,” Saklas said disingenuously, his eyes flashing with amusement and excitement. “But I have a job to do, after all. The Master says we must build an army. And, as a wise man once said… an army runs on its stomach.” He gave a quick nod to his inhuman zealots. With a scream, Stacey disappeared out the window. I started to run toward her, my arm outstretched, but a pale blur zoomed across the room and tackled me.
***
A large, thin vampire came loping around the front of the trailer, effortlessly dragging a struggling Stacey behind him. Stacey and I had our hands yanked behind our backs. We were dragged into the kitchen, where the grinning, stony faces of the monsters regarded us with bloodlust and hunger.
“OK, who gets these ones?” Saklas asked in a bored tone. The little girl stepped forward, gnashing her teeth. A small rivulet of clear drool dripped from her tiny, pursed mouth.
“I must eat. I haven’t eaten yet tonight,” she said in a thick Spanish accent. Saklas gave her a wide, toothy smile and motioned her forward. Her tanned skin looked like stone. Fangs protruded from her mouth like two deadly hypodermic needles.
“Take the bitch first,” Saklas said, pointing at Stacey. “Her blood looks clear and pure. This one here probably tastes bitter and rancid.” He grabbed me by the hair as he said it, roughly shoving my head to the side.
“I’ll take the scumbag after she finishes off the woman,” a black vampire said, his shaved head gleaming in the dull moonbeams streaming in from the kitchen window. Their silvery eyes gave off a dim light that covered the room in a pale, ghostly glow. Like the girl, this man’s skin looked solid and unyielding, as if it had turned into hard granite. He ran a long tongue over his fangs. It looked forked, like the tongue of a serpent.
The vampiric girl lunged forward, running at Stacey in her excitement over the fresh meat struggling in front of her. Stacey screamed. She stood next to the sink, both her wrists pinned behind her back by a strong, muscular vampiric man. The man’s pale face glittered with sadism as Stacey struggled to pull her slender wrists out of his iron grasp. She tried to kick backwards, aiming at his shins and knees, but he didn’t even flinch. He bent her arms back, forcing her head down until Stacey was face to face with the girl.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Stacey pleaded. I tried to fight against the vampire pinning my arms behind my back. He pushed my arms up. A stabbing pain ran through my body as I screamed in fury and agony.
“Leave her alone, you sack of shit!” I shrieked. Saklas gave me a sly wink. The little girl opened her mouth wide, far wider than seemed humanly possible, as if her jaw had unhinged like a snake’s. A forked tongue flicked out. In a blur, her gaping black hole of a mouth snapped shut around Stacey’s neck. She gave a choked gasp. Stacey’s eyes rolled back in her head, the whites shining like cataracts. My screaming devolved into sobbing as twin crimson rivers flowed from the bite. The vampiric girl reminded me of an infant suckling on its mother’s breasts. She gave happy grunts and soft moans of pleasure as she drank.
At that moment, I knew we were both doomed. The eyes of the many vampires hung in the air like bright, silver galaxies spiraling in the void. In that moment, it felt like all of them were focused directly at me.
***
My adrenaline was so high that the world seemed to shimmer a translucent white. I could feel my heart beating like a jackhammer. In the gloom of this living Hell, no one noticed the silhouette sneaking in through the shattered trailer park door, especially not me in my sorrow and powerlessness. The attack from the figure came silently.
An older Spanish man with a sharp scimitar sword held in his hands sprinted forwards. He was dressed in a coarse poncho with sharp, triangular patterns of black, orange and white jutting through the middle. The curving blade gleamed in the dim light as it soared towards the nearest vampire. It audibly whizzed through the air in a blur. The vampire, a pale, young woman, didn’t even get the chance to turn around before her head flew off her body. As if in slow motion, I watched it soar across the room as spiraling gouts of blood flew from the neck. The eyes continued to shine and the mouth continued to gnash the air even as it smacked hard into the wall before landing on the wooden floor with a heavy crash. The vampire holding an unconscious Stacey dropped her hard to the floor with a loud growl, advancing forward toward this new threat.
The little vampiric girl rose, turning her head towards the dangerous newcomer. Her fangs made a sucking sound when they pulled out of the skin. The other vampires had devolved into chaos. I felt my hands released as the one behind me rushed forward to attack the old man. Saklas’ expression fell into a deep scowl. He pulled out an enormous black revolver from his inner coat pocket, aiming it at the old man’s head.
A gunshot rang out from the front of the house. I saw an old woman standing there with a rifle held in her hands. She was dressed similarly to the old man, wearing some sort of poncho that might have been at home in the Andes. Saklas gave a bloody gurgle before falling to the ground. An exit wound the size of an orange stuck out the back of his chest. I could see the tangled masses of mutilated organs and flesh held within. The laser sight quickly moved onto the next target, dancing over the head of a pale, young woman.
The old man continued advancing on the vampires surrounding Stacey, striking at their necks. He ducked when they tried clawing him with their long, black talons. He moved like a much younger man, slipping through the crowd of monsters like a shadow. The old woman continued firing her rifle, dropping another three of the vampires.
Stacey had started to regain consciousness. Her eyes fluttered and she moaned softly. She crawled forward, pushing herself up slowly with her trembling hands. Thin rivulets of blood continued to stream down her neck, staining her white shirt with crimson splotches.
“Come on, fuckers!” the old man cried in a battle frenzy as another vampire rushed him. He brought the blade straight down into the center of the vampiric man’s skull. His head split open with a crunch of bones and a blossoming explosion of gore and brains.
“You two! It’s time to go!” he yelled at us. I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. I ran over to Stacey, threading my arms under her shoulders before dragging her up. She staggered, putting out her hands before her like a blind person. I wrapped my arm around her and helped her stumble forward.
The few remaining vampires had all retreated by this point. The little girl and a few others ran straight through the back door. It splintered into a hundred tiny fragments as they smashed right through it without slowing. Within moments, they had faded into the night.
“We have to find somewhere safe,” the old man said in a thick Spanish accent. “There’s more of them coming. But for now, we have a car waiting outside. We need to get you out of here before they show up.”
“Thank God,” Stacey mumbled. Her pale face seemed haunted. Within her eyes, I saw what kind of nightmare she and I were trapped in reflected back at me.
***
We found a black SUV with the headlights on parked in the middle of the street. The old man gestured me and Stacey to the back. He pushed his long, silvery hair back, pulling down the hood of the poncho. His face was covered in sweat. He went over to some bushes in my yard, wiping the blade of the scimitar off on the leaves, trying to clean away some of the foul vampiric blood.
Stacey collapsed in the back seat with a long sigh. I put my arm around her, pulling her close. She shivered in my grasp. Her body felt cold and small.
The old man jumped into the driver seat and the old woman into the passenger seat. They kept their weapons next to them, continuously checking the rearview mirrors and the shadows of the forest nearby. Within seconds, the old man peeled out, heading out of the trailer park. We passed countless bodies drained of blood and left on the street like pieces of garbage.
“Are you OK?” the old woman asked, turning her head to look back at us. Stacey nodded weakly.
“I think so,” she said. “She only got me for a couple seconds before you guys came in, I think. It hurts, though. It’s like someone stabbed me in the neck.”
“They did stab you in the neck,” I said. I turned to look the old woman in the eyes. The expression there seemed wise and peaceful. “I’m Jack, and this is Stacey. Thank you so much for saving us. I thought we were dead for sure.”
“I’m Cristiano, and this is Maria,” the old man said, his dark eyes constantly alert as we swerved through the labyrinthine streets of the enormous trailer park. I could see the front entrance by now. Behind it, a single police car parked there with its lights silently flashing. The blue and red strobing made the shadows all around us jump and dance in eerie flashes. On the ground nearby, I saw the bodies of the two officers. Their pale faces stared up at the cloudless sky, their lips blue. Deep puncture marks on their necks dribbled clotted blood down their cold, dead flesh.
“So much for the cops,” I said. Cristiano nodded.
“The police never did much in my country, either,” he said. “The vampiro do as they will and pass where they will. The Master has much money and power, after all. He can buy the police and the government officials.” I leaned forwards, interested.
“Do you know what’s going on here?” I whispered intently. “Do you know where these things came from?” He nodded grimly.
“I’ve known of your friend, Saklas, for quite a while. I knew he was involved in human trafficking rings. They move illegals across the US border for a price- or so they claim. Some of them do arrive, surely, but a lot of the illegals just disappear. The family members notice eventually, but who can they call? They don’t know if they disappeared in Guatemala, or in Mexico, or if they made it to the US after all and then something happened to them. It’s the perfect crime, yes?” I nodded. Maria looked sickened.
“It is foul and evil,” she said. “They feed on everyone- the men, women and children. The vampiro do not discriminate. In fact, I think they prefer innocent blood, especially that of infants.” Cristiano muttered darkly at this, making the sign of the cross.
“Anyway, the vampiro worked their way up here, as they will over time. They got smuggled in at night the same way they move the illegals and cocaine. Perhaps the vampiro trekked across the long, dark desert or perhaps they were smuggled in the back of trucks, but regardless, they are here now, and the Master wishes to expand his army. For many years, we kept this plague contained to the Andes, to the small villages hidden in the cracks of the mountains. But now, it has spread far and fast.”
“It was only last year we got the first reports of the vampiro in Mexico,” Maria said, “and now they’re up here. We came when we heard rumors of the planned attack. We captured, let’s say… a spy.” Her eyes glittered. “He didn’t want to talk, but after I brought out the pliers and the silver dagger, he was only too happy to scream his song of truth.”
“We have a safehouse nearby,” Castiano said, “a place owned by a sympathetic soul, let’s say. There is a resistance forming all across the land, from Brazil to Texas. Indeed, many new souls have joined in the struggle, though for now, we fight in secret. We call ourselves the Servants of the Iron Cross. And until the vampiro declares itself publicly, neither will we.”
***
We pulled into the dirt driveway of the house. The lights were all on, the yellow light shining through the windows like a jack-o-lantern. The lawn looked perfectly manicured. A quaint, wooden fence surrounded the house. Beyond it, the land sloped downwards into thick woods. Yet we weren’t nearly far enough away from the trailer park or the vampires for my peace of mind. Stacey continuously glanced behind her, but the wounds on her neck had stopped bleeding and she seemed to be regaining some of her strength.
Cristiano led the way, unlocking the front door and flinging it open. He called out as we entered, a bedraggled, ragtag group.
“Hello? Hola?” he cried, but the house stayed as silent as death. We walked through the front hallway. I noticed the ancient statues lining expensive mahogany tables on each side. I leaned close to one, seeing a Mayan god. It showed a slithering serpent with feathers and wings.
Room by room, we searched the house. It was, indeed, totally empty. Maria took us upstairs. She slipped a silver key out of her pocket, unlocking an enormous wooden cabinet in the master bedroom. Behind it, I saw lines of pistols, rifles, shotguns and grenades. Boxes of ammo were stocked on the top shelf, thousands of rounds sorted by caliber and piled to the very top of the eight-foot-high cabinet.
“You guys better take something,” Maria said, her eyes gleaming as she looked at the weapons. She ran her wrinkled fingers over the scope of a rifle, a faint smile playing on the corners of her lips. “The vampiro are spreading, and they will surely hunt us all down before long. Nowhere is safe. We must stand and fight. There are, after all, worse things than death.”
***
We had gone around the safehouse, locking all the doors and checking all the windows. Stacey and I had both taken shotguns and loaded them with slugs. I wasn’t very accurate with a gun anyway at longer ranges, and Stacey had only fired a gun once. I hoped that would be enough. I explained to her about loading slugs in the chamber, racking it and how to turn the safety on and off. I knew a single hit from a slug would rip through flesh like butter, and I hoped the extra firepower would compensate for our lack of experience somewhat. I loaded five slugs into the Benelli. We had filled our pockets with extra ammunition.
It wasn’t long before I heard the hissing from in front of the house. It floated through the air like a death knell. Cristiano gave a panicked shout from where he kept watch near the window.
“We have company!” he screamed. “Get ready!” I ran over to the window with Stacey by my side. Cristiano had his sword sheathed around his waist. Slung around his shoulder, he held an M16, the laser sight flicked on and ready to aim. “Ah, shotguns. Good. You can use the slugs to shoot through walls.”
“Really?” I asked, feeling the terror and uncertainty of the few moments before a deadly battle. I felt like I would crawl right out of my skin. Cristiano nodded.
“When they get near, you and her start shooting through the walls,” he said, “especially the front door. They’ll hit there and the windows. Maria and I will shoot at them from the sides. Now go! Secure the front door!” As I ran past, I glanced out the window. In the front of the pack, I saw Saklas. Blood still covered his shirt, but the wound had sealed over with some black, scab-like growth. His eyes glowed silver, the light spiraling and whirling in hypnotic currents. Behind him, I saw a few dozen of the monstrosities standing tall and fearless. They formed a triangle with the majority in the back.
“Come out, Cristiano!” Saklas yelled. “You have been a worthy opponent, and for that, I will give you a quick death. You have killed many of my comrades, Cristiano. But the Master is forgiving. And yet, if we have to come in, you will die screaming. We can make it last, Cristiano. We can stretch it out for you.” I watched this intense exchange through the small window at the top of the front door. Saklas hissed the last sentence, his twin metal fangs protruding out of his mouth like the teeth of a rattlesnake.
“Go to Hell!” Maria shouted from the left front window on the bottom floor. She fired her gun, scattering the vampires. They all ran at once towards the front of the house. Saklas called out commands in a low, guttural voice. Cristiano started shooting, emptying his clip as fast as he could into the crowd.
“Get the windows!” Saklas cried to those behind him. “We’ll take the door.” Within seconds, Saklas and eight or nine others were rushing towards me and Stacey. I felt my hands shaking as I nodded at her.
“It’s time,” I said. “Get ready to start shooting.”
“I love you,” she whispered as a tear slipped from her eye. “If we die…” Her words were cut off as the door shuddered in its frame. More powerful blows rained down on it from the other side. I inhaled deeply before putting the Benelli point-blank against the wood and firing.
I quickly emptied all five rounds through the door. Stacey fired through the side window, her pale, sweaty face shining in the light. I heard screaming from outside, a tormented, gurgling death cry that ripped its way out of the abominations’ throats. I peered through the window as I reloaded, seeing three of the vampires had giant holes torn into their faces and chests. Saklas still stood, though, and with a final, powerful kick, he sent the hole-ridden door flying open.
It smacked me hard in the face. I saw white stars for a few moments while I stumbled back, nearly falling. I slammed the back of my head hard against the wall, sliding down as Stacey screamed. Maria and Cristiano came running over, firing as dozens of vampires streamed in the open door and others crawled through the windows. More smashing came from the back of the house. I knew, at that moment, that we were surrounded.
***
As Stacey frantically tried to reload her gun, Saklas raised a bone-white hand, black talons ripping out of the ends of his fingers. He swiped it hard across Stacey’s arms, leaving four deep gouges in her skin and sending the gun flying. She gave a cry of surprise and pain. I groaned, my head swimming as I tried to rise to my feet. I still held the gun loosely in one hand. I was seeing double and felt warm blood streaming down the back of my scalp.
“No!” Cristiano yelled as a vampire jumped on his back. He fired quickly at those surrounding him, blowing holes through their blackened hearts and cold, smiling faces. The one on his back sunk its teeth into his neck. I saw Cristiano slow down as his screams faded. With a crash, they fell together to the ground. Like a lamprey stuck to a fish, the vampire held on, drinking his blood as Cristiano stopped struggling.
“Don’t kill him!” Saklas yelled. “I want him to suffer first.” He turned to Stacey, grinning like a skull. I pulled the trigger, hitting another vampire in the chest as he ran in the front door. But Saklas still stood, totally unharmed. He unhinged his jaw and lunged forward, biting deeply into Stacey’s neck.
A hand fell down on my shoulder. I jumped, seeing Maria. Her eyes looked like a panicked animal’s. In each hand, she held a grenade.
“It’s too late for us,” she said, motioning to the smashed window. “My husband is dead. I will take these monsters out before I die, though. Now get out. Run!” I glanced back, seeing Stacey’s blue lips and dilated pupils. I knew she was dead, and I jumped through the window, landing hard in the yard. I had dropped the gun in the panic of the moment.
As I sprinted across the yard, an explosion rocked the earth. I looked back, seeing a pillar of flame rising high into the sky. A shockwave seemed to travel through the air, rattling my bones and stealing my breath away. The eye of the flame danced higher, a swirling, red cyclone that spiraled into the sky. I heard screaming from the house now. Many hissing, gurgling voices joined in as more vampires died in the inferno.
***
I didn’t know where to go. I stumbled through the dark streets for a long time, my head pounding. Tears streamed from my eyes as I thought about Stacey’s death.
After a few hours, I saw headlights streaming down the hills in the distance. It looked like a caravan of cars and SUVs were on their way into town. I started running towards them, hoping that the cavalry had finally arrived.
I thought I heard footsteps matching mine. I glanced back, seeing nothing but shadows. Yet after a few seconds, I was sure of it. Someone was following me.
I stopped, looking back. In the shadows on the side of the road, I saw two figures. One of them had metal teeth and glowing eyes.
And next to him stood Stacey, her wounds fully healed, her skin like stone. The light shone from both of their eyes now. The SUVs and cars sped toward me, their headlights parting the dark night. The two figures retreated back into the forest as dozens of government agents in black suits stepped out, rushing towards me.
After seeing Stacey’s ultimate fate, I thought back to earlier in the night when Maria had said, “There are, after all, worse things than death.” And now, I know she was right.

First Previous Wiki
"So," Lecalicus said. "Can I assume that your declaration of intending to heal me does not mean you actually know how?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I request your understanding of how I can move my psychic or conceptual power to heal you."
"It is incredibly likely you will not succeed today. This would be no easy thing to cast off. Death's energy has tainted my very being."
Penny considered that for a long moment. "I understand. And I also worry about this, too. But is there at least a place I can start? It seems that there is a propagation mechanism here. Do you know how propagation even works with these sorts of things?"
"Death is feeding his conceptual power through it constantly, and I have been unable to directly remove it. Essentially, the perpetual injury is powered by the concept of Death, so it is basically impossible to destroy."
Penny frowned. "How many conceptual names do you have?"
"My main ones are Lecalicus and 'the Beast' currently. None of the others hold enough conceptual power for me anymore. 'Hope's Son' doesn't mean much when she's dead and almost no one remembers her. And especially not since it clashes with the madness thing I went through."
He coughed painfully.
"We have stories on Earth about great heroes defying personifications of Death."
Lecalicus laughed. "Like your old gods? Only Gaia is real. We checked, you know. And this is a different scale. All the versions of Death in your stories are usually small-time. Or they merely administer the afterlife, like Anubis for example. The rough parellel for that position would be the one the Source holds. The Death you once carried, and who saddled me with this curse, is equally as powerful at least as all the conceptual energy the Sprilnav species uses. From inertial dampening, neutronium distancing, to even the reality-altered durability of Elders, that is the scale here."
"Neutronium distancing?"
"It's the reason our hulls can be made from neutronium while still being possible to work, use, and move with normal thrusters. But that is beside the point. This isn't something you can yell and scream at, or do some powering up thing to get rid of. Death is gorged with the power of an entire dead universe, minus two galaxies, Penny."
"So if this is so monumental of a challenge, then why was it set up like this then?"
"To heal a Progenitor is a daunting task," Lecalicus said. "It will require sacrifice. The only alternative I really have is to strengthen one of my previous conceptual personas to escape. Either I fall into madness again, kill a few thousand planets and gain enough distance from my current self to cast off the perpetuality of Death's attack, or I die. Or of course, you heal me."
Penny nodded. "Well then. I suppose there is something we should at least try."
Penny attuned herself to her power. She thought of all the suffering people she'd saved, and soft harmonic notes vibrated around her. Memories of her exploits, memories of her personality, and those of her character bled into her designs, growing in the natural harmony she was building with every passing moment. And like the flick of a switch, the moment became ripe, set to give to her all that she was required to take and nothing more. There was peace. There was... liberation.
"Liberation," she whispered. Conceptual energy flowed like an ocean, passing from her into Lecalicus' closest wounds.
Lecalicus stopped bleeding. His eyes cleared up. And then Penny had to cut off the power flow because it was almost all gone. Death's energy rebounded across their connection, crashing down on her with the force of a thousand meteors. Pain throbbed in her head, and black spikes speared into her body. But instead of dying, Penny found pain unlike anything she'd felt before.
It was impossible to describe in its entirety. An infinitesimal fraction of it was the pain of Yasihaut's claws multiplied by some ludicrous number, each being applied to every nerve in her body. There was so much sensation and utter agony that Penny's muscles locked up. Her psychic energy snarled and strained as the tendons and ligaments in every single part of her body tried to pull themselves off of her with their full extreme power. Her fingers and toes broke so fast that their fragments made sonic booms.
And finally, when her psychic energy healed her throat, Penny managed to scream. The metal panels shattered, as did everything in the room that wasn't Lecalicus or Penny themselves. Beneath the vibrating layer of rapidly heating dust falling to the floor, thin panels of neutronium shuddered. The tiny barriers were the only thing between Penny's unending scream and the deaths of tens of thousands of soldiers by mere proximity.
As deep as they were in the mindscape, it was not enough to avoid the effect. Penny's mind collapsed in on itself and rebounded off her soul like a miniature supernova. The collapse made hundreds of millions of wounds in her mind through which gouts of psychic energy sprayed out, along with her memories.
Conceptual energy detonated in pure brightness unseen by Penny's eyes and rushed out into the ether of the 30th layer, lighting up every psychic energy sensor in the star system with warnings. Not even the passive shielding of the flagship could totally hide what had happened to Penny. Alarms were sounding outside the room, but Penny couldn't experience them in any way.
And that was within five seconds of experiencing what Lecalicus had. In the sixth second, Lecalicus' claws reached through a portal, latching onto her neck. They closed tightly, and the pain started to fade. Penny could see black veins spreading into Lecalicus' wrists from his palm. When he released her, she let out a gasp of air, shuddering from shock.
How was Lecalicus capable of doing anything through that much suffering?
Penny forcibly kept her psychic energy from rebuilding her nerves until she could ensure there would be no side effects. It left her fingers and toes broken and bleeding, but without nerves, she didn't feel them anyway.
Nilnacrawla gently pressed his copies of her memories back into their original locations. He'd long since memorized her entire mind, and having him back had saved her from being reduced to some drooling toddler.
Her throat hurt too much to speak. She retreated into Nilnacrawla's embrace and pushed her thoughts at him, using vibrations of psychic energy in the air to express them to Lecalicus.
"So... if I try to heal you, it will hurt me too?"
Lecalicus spared her a long look of concern.
"It would kill you, if I do not take in the residue that goes into you as a consequence. Meddling with Death is a way to get his attention, but often not in a good way. Do not expect to have a good relationship with him merely because you were with him in the past. He is a slave to his concept the most out of almost anyone."
Penny laid a hand on Lecalicus' mutilated hide. She moved it with a sliver of psychic energy and began to build back her nervous system, though she kept it from transmitting signals until she was finished.
"What about Space?"
"Her concept will not allow her. And it is a good thing. If she dies, from an encounter with Death itself, as low a chance as that is... well..."
"No more everything."
"Exactly. Time would probably have to move it all back, if he even could," Lecalicus said. "But that is besides the point."
Penny sat there in thought for a long time. Slowly, she raised the capacity of her nerves until they were back to normal. But even the phantom memory of that terrible pain had left lasting scars on her. The black scars lining her body reminded Penny of her old stretch marks. Except these ones were far more lightning-like.
"What about using a speeding space entity, like Exile?"
"His durability is quite extreme," Lecalicus agreed. "But even if he agrees, it is quite likely that real energy from Death himself, in this quantity, when it is not tainted by you, will actually manage to kill him."
"Perhaps we shouldn't take that option," Exile said, rising up from her hair. Four eyes fixed their gaze on Lecalicus. "Though for what it's worth, I am sorry for what has happened to you."
"Think nothing of it, entity."
"Is the issue linked to your mind?"
Lecalicus squirmed uncomfortably.
"Yes, but I... do not want to have you poking around in there. It is likely to be quite traumatic for both of us."
Penny nodded respectfully. She's suspected he'd refuse that offer. It would make things harder, but that was his choice. Lecalicus had been something of a friend to her over recent months. And she couldn't really just blow past him on something like this.
And... she was relieved as well. To experience what she'd just done again, at full power... it would kill her. It would kill her so thoroughly that her conceptual energy would probably make a Conceptual Insanity incarnation or something equally awful and grotesque.
"What... is conceptual power, really?"
"It is why sapient beings exist. From what Nova has managed to get out of the Source, it was once the native energy of its plane, as well as abundant in ours. Over time, it diluted, and the Source started imbuing its energy into sapient beings. It is important to note that psychic energy itself is not technically necessary for sapience, though. It just becomes much harder for life to arise naturally to the level of civilization.
It is crystallized belief and power, rolled into one, the rhythm of souls singing their desires into the chaos of reality, making them more likely to manifest based on strength. It is why so many cultures have messianic figures, gods, and myths of monsters. And it is powered by sapient interactions with concepts, in a way that is difficult to properly explain. If you get enough people to believe in a concept powerfully, it can manifest if the idea is coherent enough.
For example, my moniker as the Beast directly contributed to my ongoing insanity before my pivotal fight with Twilight. And the combined belief of several trillion Sprilnav across this system is working against you and I here, because they know my current state, and thus make the idea of my former state harder to directly attain. The study of conceptual power and all of its intricacies is collectively called alter-physics. Scholars who dabble in this topic exclusively posess Eonic Degrees, as well as a large amount of wealth and security."
"And if your conceptual energy was healed by energy from the same sources? What then?"
"Hmm. Maybe. And how do you suggest going about that, Penny?"
"Well, it depends. Do concept gods hear prayers?"
"Prayers? Sometimes, if you can call them that. It is how we Progenitors can know when our names are spoken, and where. Why? You don't have enough conceptual power to be at that-"
Lecalicus frowned. "How many slaves have you freed?"
"Roughly 50 million."
"And that's not enough to do it. You'd need nearly a trillion people to believe you're this 'Liberator. And since you haven't even reached that many, then there's no way you're at that point."
"And if the entire planet of Justicar, or even half of it, knew and believed I was the Liberator? What then?"
Lecalicus stared pensively into nothingness. Then his mouth cracked into a grin, and rivulets of blood flowed down next to it.
"Then you might be able to at least staunch the flow."
"How powerful are you, then?"
"Powerful enough to clear this malady out of another person. But my own power cannot affect my own affliction."
"So you and Twilight could help each other."
"No. Death would not allow us to escape our punishments so easily."
"Maybe he would. But I'll see what I can do on my end, if you're too proud to see her."
"It is more than pride, Penny. It is prudence. I have fallen further than Twilight, and thus it will be harder for me to climb even back to her position, much less past it. I am probably weaker than her now."
"I see," Penny said. "I'll get to work on improving my image, then. And I'll come back and heal you."
Lecalicus looked down at his chest, where a rib violently broke and pierced his skin.
"Oh, I'm hurt! If only I had someone to dramatically crouch over me and talk about how I'm going to be okay!"
"What?"
"...Sorry. I'm... getting a little loopy, with all the pain. I might have to go back to Space's little hideout. This place can't heal me."
Penny nodded again. She could forgive a bit of childishness every once in a while. Back when she'd been young, she'd indulged in it a lot more often. And now, it was a little less often.
An image of Yasihaut's claws flashed before her eyes. She stumbled.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Lecalicus asked.
"You can't wait any longer."
He closed his eyes. And then he shook his head.
"Well, I can wait quite a lot longer, according to the robots that were here. But remember to take the time that you need. Without you and Space, life wouldn't be worth living."
Penny felt a warm feeling in her heart. Carefully, she walked over to embrace Lecalicus. He let out a long sigh.
"I know you can win, Penny. You can build me a galaxy that she'd be proud of."
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"There is a new call coming from Elder Kashaunta."
Juan nodded at the hivemind. It was about time, given that the operation with the Grand Fleet had now wrapped up. He and several other leaders had remained in the discussion room and planned to discuss what had happened.
"We are presentable," he replied. "Proceed."
Kashaunta's face showed up on the hologram. She was almost caked in makeup, which made her look somewhat hideous. But alien beauty trends were what they were and didn't concern Juan.
"Greetings, Elder Kashaunta. Do you have contact with Penny Balica?"
"I do," she said. "But that is not why I am calling. I have received an offer from the incoming Grand Fleet Commander of the 85th Grand Fleet. It has been addressed directly to you."
"We will hear it," Juan said, wondering if this one would be some random Elder spouting hatred and vitriol about either the Alliance or Penny. It seemed somewhat likely.
The image of Kashaunta changed to that of a male Elder. He wore a crisp military uniform, and four guards stood in the background of the alien office he was sitting in. He looked remarkably calm and almost regal. But his eyes burned with passion and intelligence.
"Greetings, leaders and assorted peoples of the Alliance. I am Interim Grand Fleet Commander Valisada, an Elder. I have come into this position due to the negligence of my predecessor and the ensuing struggle that resulted. A most notable outcome of this conflict is that Elder Azeri has been kidnapped and admitted to the custody of Elder Kashaunta.
Though I have no direct evidence of the Alliance's complicity as a whole in this action, I have a very clear line of evidence leading to one of its citizens and one of its nations. This citizen, a human female who goes by the name Penny Balica, wields considerable psychic power and also Conceptual Cardinality. Some Sprilnav know her as the Liberator. I am here to proclaim that the 85th Grand Fleet sees no need to retaliate for her service of removing the previous Grand Fleet Commander from his post.
She managed to engage in battle without causing any deaths of our people, while aiming to free her adoptive father, an Elder named Nilnacrawla, from an artifact known as a Soul Blade. She showed impressive care and skill as she battled Elder Yasihaut, and has added to the glory of both parties involved. As for the nation, Phoebe, who is both a citizen of and a direct represantaive of the Locus, was directly responsible for hacking my flagship, using a series of loopholes that have since been closed.
Though she may or may not deny the intent of her action, it was a true act of war against the Sprilnav, though I do not at this time intend to pursue it. I assume that you can handle this matter amongst yourselves, given that you are still in control of your nation and not being sidelined by her increasing power and prestige. Rest assured, I am not here to proclaim Sprilnav superiority over Humanity or the Alliance.
Nor am I approaching you as an enemy who plots to undermine you. I would wish to engage in honest dialogue, to avoid such unfortunate incidents from occurring in the future. We are also aware of the upcoming Judgment, and our actions will shift according to the ruling given when that is completed. But for now, we shall not counterattack unless Penny Balica takes it upon herself to attack us again. We have no interest in a war against you, but do not mistake that lack of interest for a lack of the ability.
Your combined fleets, and those of the nearest 30 nations to you, would be incapable of even breaking the shields of a single one of our dreadnaughts. Remember this, before you make further decisions which may lead to an undesirable outcome for your nation and your species, either in the Judgment or at my own claws. The matter can be deemed concluded."
The hologram disappeared. Juan looked at the rest of the room as it erupted into conversation. He'd have to do something about this, for sure.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Corrector Astipra awoke and felt heavier. His entire body felt that way, signifying the increased density of his bones. His mind's size and psychic density had been increased. Every portion of him had been improved, including his guns.
Six guns hovered behind his head in a rotating circle. Their highly energy-efficient ammunition was already fully stocked. He shrugged off the small robe that clothed him and checked the mirror. Nearly every portion of his skin was visibly lined with cybernetic incisions. In fact, only a tiny portion of him had remained entirely unaltered.
The thick plates in his feet to help with kicking and punching felt similar. Several cybernetic technicians entered the room. They rubbed ointments on his shoulders and pressed scanners against his flesh. Astipra waited in place.
And when they finished, he remained silent. His implant would be reconnected soon, fully equipped with psychic and electronic warfare controls. His mindscape perception now spanned two layers above and below his current position, which took incredible energy.
The room was large, more than capable of housing thousands. Across from him, other Correctors were awaking from their rests. Teams of technicians went to and from all of them, and Astipra's gaze was soon drawn to a figure standing in the center of the circular facility.
It was an Elder. The only Elder that truly mattered here.
"Justicar," Astipra said. It was the first he'd said since his retrofit, and somehow the Elder heard it. His ears twitched. His head swiveled to meet Astipra's gaze. Through the mental connection, Justicar came to him in full force. It was a thousand times stronger than before, larger, deeper, and angrier. Justicar had unsealed some terrible memories, it seemed. And yet, due to Astipra's mental changes, it was easy for him to withstand his master's presence.
"I am not your master, Astipra," Justicar rumbled. Even his voice was deeper now. The Corrector knelt in acknowledgment of him.
"You are in all but name, Justicar," Astipra said.
"Yes. Though I am now Justicar Proxitus."
Astipra contemplated that. Little was known about Justicar's native people and traditions since they were basically entirely gone. Those that remained were either presumed dead or hidden deep within the planet by Justicar for protection.
"A war name?"
"Yes," Justicar replied. "Its ancient meaning roughly translates to 'Avenger.' And it fits close enough to what I aim to do."
"And how can I help you carry out your task, Elder?"
"There are several assassins who attempted to kill several close friends of Penny. They have fled deep into the Underground. You and three other Correctors will venture down there and burn all in your path. Do not stop until I tell you do."
"And should there be any other information I should be aware of, or any precautions I need to take?"
"Your personal shield is three times stronger now. Your jetpack is now capable of two days of continuous flight. You will be given a sharper and stronger sword, which weighs the same as your old one. And your guns are roughly fifty times more powerful. You should be capable of leveling skyscrapers with them, just have care for what you fire at."
"Thank you, Justicar Proxitus."
"For now, among your ranks, I will still be Justicar. Relay this to the others when they wake up. Take your assigned squad with you in 3 kilopulses. Go and make me proud."
Justicar's presence in his mind disappeared, and then the hivemind network reorganized itself. Suddenly, Astipra could tell where the other Correctors were. He could also tell where the Guides were. Tens of thousands were inside this building, and many more were outside and spread throughout the security field, separating the facility from one of Justicar's primary cybernetic implant factories.
He could feel it all and wasn't overwhelmed. Astipra drifted for a time, and then the Correctors were all awake. After that, things moved quickly. The tests were completed. They went into a mass simulation, testing out their new capabilities for subjective years. It passed quickly. Astipra emerged intimately familiar with all of his old—or technically new—equipment and had closer bonds with his comrades.
Justicar had also added defense tactics against 'singularly powerful enemies' like Penny and 'large alien fleets,' which looked quite like Grand Fleets.
Even the capabilities of the lowest Grand Fleet ships remained out of reach for the Correctors directly. And that was because they weren't the size of fighter crafts, not because Justicar had spared any expense. However, since he had control over the star system and ownership of even the star lanes, it was likely not even a tiny dent in his massive bank accounts. Astipra reoriented his thoughts.
And then the Correctors scattered. Some of them flew off with their jetpacks. Others moved to transports and loading ships to be deployed across the planet. For his part, Astipra was going back underground. They all left from different exits, some secret and some not. With one last look at the facility and Justicar's true body, Astipra set off to do his duty to Justicar and the people he ruled.
Soon, he found himself hovering over a section of the city that had fallen in on itself due to mining below. Several sealed tunnels were visible from up here, and he could sense thousands of gang members hiding behind fortifications. Countless missiles and laser platforms stood ready to knock him out of the sky.
Astipra looked at them and then sent a message back to Justicar Command through his implant.
"Fortified enemy. Tens of thousands of contacts. Orders?"
"Hold position. Scuttlers will be there soon."
Scuttlers were a type of drone designed for drilling and exploding. They could destroy entire buildings with their payloads or carry enough toxic gas to fill a small town with poison.
"Expected numbers?"
"Justicar has allocated 30,000 scuttlers to your team. We will send 500 to your location. Take charge, and purge the criminal filth below. Send their souls to the Everlasting."
The line was cut. Astipra sat on his haunches and prepared to wait. Death would be coming soon for all who opposed Justicar any longer. With the Grand Fleets roused, they would find it much harder to hide from the unified sensor networks Justicar had set up to detect them. There would be war, death, and misery. And then there would be peace.
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Elder Yasihaut hated Valisada. The stupid fool didn't know what he was dealing with, and he'd suffer. Azeri being gone should have made it all easier, but it was just getting worse. All he'd done was make the rest of the entrenched power structures dig in their claws even harder. Yasihaut had a near-perpetual scowl now, and very little would change that soon.
"We have to strike back!" she yelled, furiously glaring at the Elder, who stood beside his guards, almost entirely indifferent.
"Why?"
"Why? Because they attacked us? Kashuanta, Penny, all the rest!"
How was he this stupid?
"No," Valisada said. If we attack, we will start a Grand Fleet war. I will not be on the record firing first in any such situation, especially since most of Penny's political power is simply because she is a strong alien. I do not subscribe to this Sprilnav supremacy theory you have pushed against Penny. And because I do not subscribe to it, I will remain alive and un-abducted."
"So you are afraid, then."
"I am not. I am simply being prudent. There is no point making an enemy out of a neutral party. When Penny was taking gunfire and lasers from the group of a few hundred soldiers you squashed into that hallway, she could have killed them all. I don't even need to have the readings Phoebe managed to erase to know that. She could have killed you all, and she didn't."
"Because she is still weak."
"Surviving a Flagship Defense Unit is not a sign of weakness," Valisada said. His golden armor shimmered in the lighting of the room. "And you, Elder Yasihaut, are the reason for Azeri's downfall. Kashaunta would have never executed her plan if you hadn't gotten Penny angry enough to infiltrate the ship."
She fumed, but Valisada was brimming with psychic and conceptual energy. Everyone was, after the attack. They couldn't afford to be caught unawares again.
"Are you at least going to punish her accomplice, then?"
"Accomplice? If you mean the spies we have found, then yes, they will be tried, tortured, and eventually executed after their minds have been sufficiently broken."
"That is not what I mean."
"Then I'm afraid I don't follow."
"The Sprilnav she was with. Officer... Juamplo, I think it was. Why not make an example out of him?"
"Because all he saw was Ishucrawla. He never helped Penny herself willingly. I will not punish loyal soldiers for aiding their comrades, even if Ishucrawla himself was false. We are better than that now."
"We were never better than that. You're an Elder. You know what leniency gets us. All the aliens we had under our command after the Source war started fighting us in massive rebellions. They're never as trustworthy as true Sprilnav."
"Elder Yasihaut," Valisada said. "It is important to remember that the Sapient Associated Resistance Forces sprang up because we were eating them alive. In fact, we were farming them to feed the overpopulated ecumenopolises that remained after the war's end. There's only so much an oppressed people can take before they start fighting back. But all of those aliens, and nearly all of their species, are long faded into dust and fossil records. The modern cultures now are a result of careful curation of the Sprilnav people, and even they hate us. The 85th Grand Fleet is just that: Grand. It is not, nor will it ever be, a lowly task force dedicated to seeking out an unenlisted Elder's rivals."
"At least let me kill him."
"Juamplo? No. If you kill him, or any soldiers on my ship, I will toss you out of the airlock. Perhaps then you can have your final battle with Penny, but it will be without my help."
"Your complacency will destroy our species."
"My prudence will save it from Elders like you. Leave, while I still allow it."
Valisada's guards started moving closer. This time, they were Elders instead of normal Sprilnav. Several androids also stood at attention in the room, ready to deploy shields if necessary.
Yasihaut looked at them all. "Can I assume, then, that you won't come crying to me when Penny comes back?"
"Given that your last encounter ended with the abduction of Azeri and your complete failure to stop her from leaving the ship, I can say for sure that we don't need your 'help,' Elder Yasihaut," Valisada said.
Yasihaut scoffed. They were all stupid, but it was their problem now. Yasihaut herself had things she still needed to do, though. She took the train to the flagship's main civilian hangar. She boarded her transport ship, settling down upon the chair as the autopilot guided her out of the massive behemoth behind her.
She stopped at a station near the edge of the system. Yasihaut entered the latest iteration of the gangs' diplomatic mission following a route she knew well. Justicar had cracked down on the closer ones to his planet, so institutions like this were the only real way.
"Elder Yasihaut," her contact said. "How good to see you. How unfortunate the news about Azeri's abduction is. We're glad that you're safe."
"Of course," Yasihaut replied, politely dipping her head.
"What can we offer you today?"
"A full spa treatment, and then a business discussion."
"The nature of the business?"
"Ships, lives, and people. As well as retribution."
"Do tell us more."
"Penny seems to have a liking of the slaves she stole from your groups," Yasihaut said. "And it seems that your attempts at taking them back have been unsuccessful."
"Yes. There is a high concentration of Guides around the main camps, and the smugglers are reticent to end up on Justicar's registries."
"I am aware that you have a few contacts inside Azeri's Grand Fleet."
"Yes. But Interim Grand Fleet Commander Valisada has already started the process of Transference. Once the Dreadnaught Commanders and Dreadnaught Captains are assembled, which they will be in only a few kilopulses, then Azeri will no longer be the Grand Fleet Commander. It is likely that any interactions with people of such a caliber during this time will be closely monitored, as well as those leading up to it."
"It's worse than we feared, then," Yasihaut said. "Penny's impacting them far faster than she should. By the time the Judges start the Judgment, she'll have control of at least Justicar and Kashaunta, if not the army of millions of stolen slaves. They're even feeding her conceptual energy."
The contact smiled.
"Now we get to the meat of the matter," he said. "And we figured that was why you suggested taking out the slaves, or are about to. And you want a Dreadnaught Commander to do it?"
"They're the only ones with sufficient firepower to breach Justicar's shields, and enough survivability and independence to last for a bit before they get killed."
"We have a few Commanders we can use for that purpose. It will cost you greatly, of course. Money is not enough for this. We will need introductions to your contacts within the Status Quo Party, as well as access to an untraceable account with 20 quintillion credits as a yearly limit from one of your banking groups."
"I can get you that," Yasihaut agreed. "But it will take time. Will you be satisfied with one 1 quintillion credit account and 22 more after the deal is finalized?"
"Five, and 15 more. We do not want to stretch your financial limits, after all. We are aware of your need for monetary spending to fight Kashaunta's gigantic hoard of wealth."
"I have my income streams still open," Yasihaut said.
"Yes. Elder Eleint is quite the client."
He was a senior member of the Status Quo Party and one of the wealthiest Sprilnav who had ever lived. He also dealt in both politics and the defense industry. Yasihaut was probably his way of sucking more money from others into his own coffers by driving up market volatility in the areas she visited. It was part of why she'd been sure to act 'crazier' when it would benefit him.
There were other Elders like him, but their support was much more conservative. They were content to allow Eleint's territory to remain sovereign. The Party was good at resolving such matters; it was why it still existed when so many similar organizations had long since died out, their members either poor or dead.
"Now," the contact said. Let me tell you of our options. We have added several new skin procedures and acquired a state-of-the-art psychic energy regenerator."
"I'll take those," Yasihaut said. "And your conceptual energy boosters. Type 16."
"How many?"
"How many can you afford to sell?"
The contact smiled. "Many. Perhaps enough to ensure your sword finds its way in that vermin's heart. And if not, we will always have more for you."
Yasihaut grinned, letting her open satisfaction show to them. It was always good to express gratitude when Elders would be involved in the decisions. And though the contact was not an Elder, the ones he represented were.
"And the Judgment? Still no word on when that will begin?"
"Not yet. There has been a schism among the High Judges, which Justicar appears to be addressing with upgrading the Correctors. Rest assured, they will never be powerful enough to catch us."
"I am quite sure of that," Yasihaut chuckled. "It is good to be among such distinguished company here. It is relieving, honestly."
"We offer other services as well, here."
"I don't need counseling. I'm working through things perfectly well on my own, thank you."
The contact bowed his head. He ushered Yasihaut through a set of silver double doors. "Very well. You may select a room."

Humanity is losing a war against overwhelming odds until an unknown ally makes an appearance. This is the story of how the actions of a stranded spaceship crew would echo far into the future.
[Next]
Cover
When the war with Khrutari Dominion started back in 3125, there was no massive invasion, no grand declaration of war or sudden planetary bombardment to signal their arrival.
It was subtle, indistinguishable from regular pirate activity in the frontier.
A few wayward merchant ships would go missing here and there from time to time. To this day, humanity still doesn’t know when hostilities actually began. Eventually, a few patrol vessels would go to investigate, only to go missing as well, but again, this was the frontier. It was out of sight and out of mind for most of the government and the perils of operating in deep space was a known danger to anyone that was posted out there.
Then, the balance shifted.
Rather than merchant ships, more and more patrol vessels would go missing, escalating responses yielded similar results. Then, one day, a frigate made it back, barely. When it had limped back to safe harbor, authorities could scarcely believe what they saw, layers of armor pitted and eroded instead of the telltale burn marks of plasma weaponry standard across Federated Systems space. The surviving crew told stories of unknown alien ships with imposing faceted geometries. They told of ships with weapons that stripped armor away before firing into exposed superstructures with super-heated plasma of their own, melting through bulkheads and boiling away their crews, turning the once proud warships into nothing more than burnt out husks.
A task force was assembled to meet the threat, consisting of the 5th, 8th, and 15th Sector Defense Fleets. Over 300 ships total of all classes, manned by all species, from the 100 meter long Hulmann Class Frigates to the one and a half kilometer long Amnyc Class Dreadnoughts. Together, they gathered in the Laraeus System, at the edge of frontier space. Together they charged into the black to meet the threat.
Less then half returned.
That was three years ago and the war still isn’t going in our favor.
Sure, the news feeds in the Core say that we’ve fought the Khrutari to a standstill, but the truth is that they’re slowly pushing us back. We’ve lost four worlds already, about ten percent of the Republic of Federated Systems, and after the defeat at Laraeus, there just aren’t enough ships to mount an effective counterattack. We’re building more, and they’re getting more effective, but it’s just not fast enough to keep up with the losses.
--–
Commander Glenn cursed under her breath. “God damn it.”
She addressed the officer at the station next to her, “How many in the next wave?”
“139 and counting, ma’am.” Worry was creeping into the officer’s voice.
She broadcast a message to all ships in range, “This is Commander Helena Glenn to all remaining ships in Task Force Seven. Cease recovery operations immediately and form up around the orbital defense station. We have a new wave of boarding craft incoming.”
This happened every time. The superheavy coilgun on the older orbital defense stations did an excellent job at crushing the hulls of the Khrutari ships. After all, not much can stop a five ton tungsten slug accelerated to 6% the speed of light, but after the first few successful defenses, they adapted. Their main ships would sit outside the effective range of the orbital defenses and they would send wave after wave of boarding craft at the defense stations, backed up with smaller warships to harry defenders and keep attention away from the boarders. Eventually, some would get through and it was all over. The station would be taken offline, the larger warships would move in, and the invasion would start. In ground combat, RFS troops had the advantage at range, so the Khrutari closed distance as quickly as possible, thick ablative armor boiling away as it soaked up the concentrated plasma fire, overwhelming RFS soldiers in melee combat. In the cramped confines of a ship or station, the threat of a Khrutari boarding party was everyone’s worst nightmare.
The line was drawn as the twenty three remaining ships assumed formation in a half-sphere around the orbital defense station, leaving a gap to give the station’s coilgun a clear line of fire. A similar scene was playing out all around Felhaven’s orbit, with each of its eleven orbital defense stations sporting a mixed escort of around twenty frigates and ten destroyers.
“Enemy ships will be in range in three minutes. They’re at 251 craft and counting. I see ten frigates in the mix, the boarding craft are forming a wedge in front of them.” The sensors officer reported.
“We held them before. We’ll do it again, as many times as we need to.” The commander said, the second half as much to herself as it was to the officers on the bridge of her destroyer.
The minutes dragged on as the wave of boarding craft surged towards the defending fleet. As soon as they were within range, each ship in Commander Glenn’s task force blossomed with numerous smoke plumes as missile silos opened, unleashing hundreds of warheads towards the approaching craft. Superheated streams of plasma lanced out of the boarding craft as their networked defense systems worked out optimal patterns of fire to best defeat the angry swarm of missiles heading towards them.
At this distance, it was almost beautiful, gossamer strands of teal plasma gently arcing through space, occasionally punctuated by the small bloom of a destroyed missile where multiple threads of plasma intersected.
“Second salvo away.” The weapons officer reported, “About ten percent of enemy craft destroyed with the first salvo.”
More tendrils of smoke appeared around the defensive fleet as the second salvo of missiles was loosed towards the mass of Khrutari boarding craft. The surrounding space was hazy with spent propellant as the boarding craft entered point defense range just as the second salvo connected with dozens of their ships. They erupted into a shower of flame, smoke, and shrapnel, throwing off the defender’s aim as the debris was carried through the battle space by its remaining momentum.
The boarding craft broke ranks, revealing the larger frigates they had been shielding as they prepared to engage the defending fleet.
“All ships, local fire control! Destroyers, form up on the Lovelace, let’s give their warships something to chew on! Frigates, form a tight cluster around the station, anything tries to get close or latch on you blow them outta the black!” Commander Glenn barked.
The Lovelace charged forward with the remaining seven destroyers in loose formation. The Khrutari didn’t seem to expect them to take the offensive as their boarding craft hastily tried to get out of the way, a few unlucky ships ending up plastered against the hulls of the advancing destroyers. Each destroyer lit up as point defenses took opportunistic shots at the formations of smaller craft, their efforts rewarded by the occasional explosion of a freshly destroyed boarder. They weren’t going to give those frigates a chance to spread out and split their fire.
“Weaps! What’s the status of the capacitors?” The commander asked.
“We’re at ninety five percent charge and holding.” The weapons officer responded.
“Great, once we close a little further, let them have it.” Commander Glenn ordered.
The enemy frigates loosed a series of torpedoes towards the advancing destroyers as they closed in. Their already taxed point defenses struggled to prioritize the new threats. Two of the trailing destroyers were hit across the bow and outward flank. Rather than explode into flame, the torpedoes detonated in a cloud of angry red energy, tendrils of it seeming to stick to the armor of the destroyers, eating away at it layer by layer before dissipating. One of the destroyers violently erupted as the corrosive cloud breached the containment chamber of its plasma lance, orange-white explosions rippling down its length as its power grid failed to contain the sudden surge of energy fed back into itself. The second destroyer was slightly luckier, only being exposed to the corrosive weapons along its side, small gouts of vapor could be seen as various compartments were breached. Despite the damage, bleeding atmosphere like a harpooned whale, it remained in formation with the Lovelace, engine bell glowing red hot. Its crew was determined to make the enemy frigates pay for every kilometer of space they crossed.
“They’re in range! Firing!” The weapons officer shouted as he tapped on the screen in front of him.
The plasma lance mounted to the bow of the Lovelace erupted in a brilliant orange plume as a stream of energy raced out towards one of the frigates. It tried to dodge, turning away to start thrusting perpendicular to the destroyer formation as it unleashed another wave of corrosive torpedoes which were quickly swatted down.
Unfortunately for it, all this did was give the Lovelace a larger target, the weapons officer directing the stream of plasma towards the frigate’s reactor section like a firefighter directing a stream of water from a hose. Magnetic focusing arrays bent the plasma beam towards the rear of the enemy frigate as the column of energy splashed against the enemy warship. For a moment, it looked like the incoming plasma beam was being absorbed by the hull, eaten by the dark gray material, before a dull red glow began to appear. The glow increased in intensity, from red to orange, then yellow, and finally a brilliant white before the armor failed a couple seconds later, melting and vaporizing under the intense heat. The plasma beam from the Lovelace burned its way through the smaller ship before breaching the frigate’s reactor compartment. As this was happening, the Lovelace’s helmsman had already directed all the power she could to the ventral thrusters. Once the frigate’s reactor was compromised, she fired the thrusters to lift the destroyer up and over the mortally wounded frigate while pirouetting the destroyer around so that it continued to face the immediate threat as its momentum carried it to a safe distance.
It’s containment systems finally overcome, melted and fused by the plasma bombardment, the back half of the frigate exploded. Twin plumes of energy shot out the top and bottom as the reactor explosion was funneled away from the wreck by what remained of its containment field. The front of the wreck drifted almost lifelessly, what was left of its power systems slowly dying as lights flickered out across the remains of the frigate. The Lovelace fired up its engines, racing to get back in the fight.
All around, Khrutari frigates and RFS destroyers were in pitched battle, all maneuvering to get an angle on the other. Two of the frigates had ganged up on the previously damaged destroyer, dumping fire of their own into its exposed inner workings even as the destroyer’s point defenses traced lines of fire across the hulls of its attackers. Everyone on the Lovelace’s bridge saw as teal energy lit up the interior of the ship, thee brilliant glow racing its way down corridors before breaching and spilling out through the view ports dotted around the ship. The energy eventually made its way to the bridge and, through the magnified view, they saw the brief silhouette of the friendly ship’s bridge crew before they were incinerated. Their task complete, the two frigates moved on to other targets, leaving the dead, red hot glowing husk of the RFS destroyer bleeding rapidly cooling plasma like a sieve.
“Weaps, put everything we have into the plasma lance, pull it from defensive systems too if you have to. They are not getting away!” Commander Glenn snarled.
“Yes ma’am!” The weapons officer replied, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he quickly tapped a series commands into his console.
One of the two frigates had noticed the Lovelace moving towards it and lined up to meet their attack. It started charging forward before loosing more corrosive torpedoes as the various cannons placed around its hull started lacing fire towards the destroyer.
“Helm-” The Commander started.
“I see them ma’am, emergency reaction control systems are warmed.” The helmsman interjected.
“Excellent.” Was the commander’s only reply, a predatory grin on her face.
“We’re at seventy five percent and climbing, we’ll be ready to fire in twenty seconds.” The weapons officer stated, his hand ready to unleash another barrage of hellfire.
The torpedoes raced towards the Lovelace, from their perspective, they almost seemed to stand still, the only obvious indication of their movement being the distance rapidly counting down on the bridge’s tactical display.
“All crew, brace for impact!” The commander shouted, her voice broadcast to the entire vessel.
Time seemed to slow down the closer the enemy warheads got before-
“NOW!” The helmsman yelled involuntarily as she hit the command to fire the emergency maneuvering system. Across opposite sides of the ship, vents snapped open as quick release valves shunted hypergolic propellant into the reaction chambers of the emergency maneuvering system. Instead of the clean purplish-white glow of the main maneuvering thrusters, dirty orange flames shot out at various points across the Lovelace as the chemical thrusters shoved the mass of the destroyer to the side and threw the ship into a lazy spin right before the corrosive torpedoes impacted. Instead of hitting the bow, they turned to try and match the ship’s new velocity vector, slamming into the rear of the Lovelace near her main drive section.
The ablative armor immediately began to pit and sizzle.
“Impact! Multiple hits across engineering decks five through nine and fifteen through twenty one!” The officer next to Commander Glenn reported.
“Seal all surrounding bulkheads and evacuate the outer compartments!” The commander ordered.
“We’re at ninety seven percent and in range!” The weapons officer yelled.
“Fire!” The commander replied with a murderous gleam in her eyes.
The weapons officer let out a low guttural yell as he fired the plasma lance a second time. Once again, bright orange energy erupted from the front of the Lovelace. This time it slammed into the bow of the enemy frigate as the lights aboard the destroyer’s bridge dimmed, the weapons systems dutifully pulling power from every available non-essential source. The weapons officer directed the beam upwards this time. Rather than try to burrow the stream of energy through the ship, he angled the beam towards where the bridge of the enemy frigate was. The armor of the frigate once again heated and melted away as the stream of orange light spilled across the top of its hull, carving a trench through the top of the frigate, burning away its bridge as well as a sizable portion of its sensor, power and control systems by the time the Lovelace’s plasma lance had finished firing. The frigates engines continued to fire at full throttle as the force of the plasma lance and rapidly vented atmosphere shoved it town and out of the way.
It flashed past the destroyer while the sensor operator directed a camera to track it while the helmsman prepared to bring the ship around.
“No, leave it. Look.” Commander Glenn stated, pointing to the display.
Despite its engines still running hot, the frigate made no attempt to correct its course, slowly pinwheeling away with no one at the controls.
By this point, their battle was over. Of the seven destroyers that had accompanied the Lovelace, only three remained, while all enemy frigates had been reduced to half-melted wrecks. In the distance, the friendly frigates were still putting up a valiant defense as tracer fire arced away from the defensive ball in all directions, the number of swarming boarding craft had been reduced to around 40 vessels by this point and was falling rapidly.
“Helm, status?” Commander Glenn asked.
The helmsman responded with an even voice, “I can give us sixty percent throttle at most before I start redlining the reactor, Commander. Damage to the engineering section meant that we had to shut down secondary reactors and damage to the engine bell is limiting our maximum thrust. Main reactor is stable, though, primary maneuvering systems are at seventy percent, EMS fuel is at half.”
“Better than I thought.” Commander Glenn mused before addressing the surviving destroyers, “Alright, all remaining ships, make your way back to the rally point at best speed and help clear out the stragglers. Helm, give us half throttle, keep a little in reserve just in case. Weaps, how are we looking?”
“Capacitors for the plasma lance are completely drained, it’ll be about ten minutes before we can fire again if we keep pulling power from secondary systems. We’ve lost point defenses on the port side engineering section and missile reserves are down to one quarter.” The weapons officer responded coolly.
“Bring PDCs back up,” The Commander ordered, “we don’t want to risk eating another salvo while we have our backs turned. How does that affect the recharge time on the lance?”
“With the additional power draw, it’ll be about seventeen minutes before capacitors are back to full charge.” The weapons officer replied.
“Good enough,” Commander Glenn stated before keying the intercom, “This is Commander Glenn to damage control, give me something good.”
The ship’s damage control officer read off his report as the Lovelace limped back towards friendly territory. It arrived just in time to assist with picking off the last few boarding craft, passing by a large cloud of debris, smoke, and slowly dissipating core plasma as it did. Of the fifteen frigates that had started the battle, thirteen were still in the fight.
“Lovelac to Athena, battle report. How are you all holding up?” The commander hailed the friendly ships.
“Not too bad, Helena, all things considered.” Came the slightly distorted reply of the Athena’s captain, “a few of them managed to slip by and tried latching onto the station, but they learned real quick that was a bad idea.” His voice grew somber, “We lost two though, the Juno’s a dead stick, she was boarded amidships, most of the crew made it to the escape pods before her engineering teams flooded the ship with reactor plasma. The Helios was also boarded, couldn’t fight them off damaged as she was, so she charged out before blowing her reactor, that cloud of debris you passed on the way over is what’s left of her. She took out a good chunk of the bastards, though.”
Commander Glenn sighed wearily, tilting her head back with her eyes closed as the bridge grew silent.
“Commander, incoming hail from the defense station.” The Lovelace’s communications officer reported a few moments later.
“Put it through.” Commander glen stated after collecting herself.
“This is ODS New Carthage to destroyer Lovelace, over.” Came a female voice over the ship’s speakers.
“Lovelace here, how can we help?” Commander Glenn asked.
“Our medical teams are standing by, ma’am. We’re ready and able to take survivors.” Was the reply.
“Thanks, New Carthage, we’ll start sending them over now.” Commander Glenn let out a breath in relief.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll start coordinating with your transport pilots immediately. ODS New Carthage out.” the defense station’s communications officer signed off.
The ships of Task Force Seven took the time between attacks to lick their wounds. Damage control teams darted to and fro. Inside and outside the ships, welding torches lit up as damaged armor was cut away and fresh plating was affixed. Drones flitted from station to ship, carrying ammunition, medical supplies, and retrieving wayward escape pods while transport shuttles ferried the wounded to the station.
Shipless crews volunteered to take stations on remaining vessels, bolstering their crews and filling out any out holes in the roster left by the wounded and the dead.
About an hour later, the weapons officer stood up, desperation creeping into his voice, “Contact! Looks like they’re gathering for another attack.”
“How many?” Commander Glenn inquired.
The weapons officer didn’t respond, looking wearily at the display in front of him.
“How many ships, lieutenant?” Commander Glenn asked again, more sternly this time.
“… 416 craft ma’am, radar also shows fifteen frigates, about twenty minutes out…” The weapons officer stated, numbly. He just about collapsed into his seat.
The rest of the bridge crew was looking at the commander, her eyes were fixed on the tactical display now showing a large blob of dots amassing at the edge of their detection range. She knew this was going to be a fight to the end, she’d prepared for it. What hurt the most was seeing all of the young officers around her as she glanced around. Their enthusiasm just a few years ago had been ground down into a pragmatic determination. The weariness on their faces as they faced an untiring enemy with seemingly endless numbers aged them, the stress of the last few years hardened them.
They were ready to die, but she wasn’t ready for them to.
Commander Helena Glenn took a breath, ready to give the order for her ships to form up once more to weather the storm once ag-
“New contacts, ma’am,” The weapons officer sounded confused, “twenty five ships, unknown classification, holding position on the opposite end of our perimeter”
“Any ideas who they are?” Commander Glenn inquired, alarmed.
“Uhh… not sure, ma’am. Silhouettes don’t match anything in the database, friendly or enemy, general shape’s all wrong too, doesn’t look Human, Cynvari, or Rakthar, like any allied designs, really. Pulling long range scans on the lead ship now… that’s weird.” he stated, brow furrowed in confusion as he quickly tapped a series of buttons on his console.
“What is?”
“The lead ship, it’s transmitting a compliant registry number. It’s old but… pinging the database now… what the hell? The number was last tied to an old United Earth ship called the Onager…”
That couldn’t be right, United Earth had been dissolved over 500 years ago.
As the scans resolved onto the tactical display, the ship that appeared was unlike anything they’d seen before. The general shape was typical, drive section in the back, hangars amidships, crew section in the front. From the front, the cross section was a flattened octagon, from the top, the front of the ship was a fixed width until half way down where it tapered up, increasing in width near the hangar bays before narrowing back down near the engine section. Large plates of spaced armor ran along the length of the ship while large turrets peeked out of gaps along the top and bottom of the ship. On each corner of the frame, and sticking out near the middle of the ship, were a large engine pods that looked like they could swivel back and forth.
One thing was for certain, it wasn’t one of theirs.
“Incoming tightbeam hail from the unknown vessel, ma’am.” Her communications officer stated, “It’s using an old United Earth Survey Corp encryption tag.” He sounded just as confused as the weapons officer at this point.
“Do we have the codes to decrypt it?” Commander Glenn asked, she was shaking her head with hand covering her mouth.
“I think so, ma’am. Give me a moment, these codes are ancient… umm… alright, decryption successful. It’s audio only.” The communications officer stated.
“Put them through.” Commander Glenn ordered before addressing the tactical display once the communications officer had given the affirmative. “This is Commander Helena Glenn of the Republic of Federated Systems Navy. To whom am I speaking?”
The voice that answered back shocked the crew, not because the translation software couldn’t register it, but because it came through in very heavily accented English, yet spoken with the carefully measured cadence.
“Greetings, Khommander Helena Glenn. Ai ahm Maytreeark Vikara N’dil T’lsir-Whest, of Haos T’lsir-Whest, ihn khommand ohf the Aesyran Emp-hyre’s Phirst Rah-piid Rees-pons Phleet.” The gravelly female voice on the other end of the connection replied.
“And why are you here?” Commander Glenn asked, wearily.
Vikara answered, her voice filled with pride, “Yohr pee-pol ahnd mein shaare a hiistori, thoeh eet is nhot nohn to yooh. Mhaani senchoorees agoh, yohr pee-pol helpd enshoor owhr prohsperus futyur, ahnd nhow whee will help enshoor yoohrs. Wuns theh dhae ees wun, ai woohd shaare thaht hiistori with yooh.”
While still suspicious, for the first time since the war started, a spark of hope ignited in Commander Glenn’s chest. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to turn the tide in their favor.
“We’re not really in a position to say no. We’ll take all the help we can get, but after this, it seems like there’s going to be a lot of catching up to do.”
[Next]
A/N: A little over two years ago, I posted my first story to this subreddit, titled the Chronicles of Aysera. Since I was new to writing at the time, I ended up writing myself into a corner through overplanning, then eventually burned out on the story. With the benefit of hindsight and a little more experience, I'm going back and redoing it.
Updates to this story will most likely be less regular than Veilbinder, since that's still my main story, but this universe is too near and dear to me not to give another crack at it.

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A burst of red light flashed as Leaf’s arrow struck the Shade, biting into the invisible barrier that covered Cora’s skin, unable to break through, but carrying enough force to break her stance. As she staggered, Jahora’s hands brushed against Helbram’s back. A shiver ran up his spine, and he could feel wind brush against his shoulder before it settled between them. It was a sensation that he was familiar with, one that had been practiced countless times for a moment like this. Reflex took over, and he leapt from behind the tree as he raised his shield in front of him. Air swelled at his back, and right as it burst he lunged towards Cora.
The wind carried him, closing the distance between them in an instant and granting Helbram a momentum that he drove into the Shade as they collided. He tucked himself behind his shield as best he could, but still felt the shock of the impact tremble across his body as Cora took the full force of the blow at her side. The Shade was knocked off of her feet, and before she hit the ground Elly dashed past Helbram’s side. The Weaver’s arm radiated a soft blue aura as she raised it above her head. Ice trailed behind her fingers, fractals that danced at their tips as they coalesced into a spike as long as her arm and as thick as her leg.
When Cora hit the ground, Elly drove the spike towards the Shade’s chest. Once again her invisible barrier blocked the blow, but as the ice struck the Weaver clenched her fist. The spike burst into a cloud of frost that draped over Cora, coating the once unseen shield surrounding her in a layer of pale white, revealing it to be made of stone that had covered most of Cora’s body like a suit of armor. However, its cover was not perfect, and Helbram could clearly make out the gaps littered throughout its defense.
He was not the only one who could.
The Shade moved to recover, but an arrow whizzed past Helbram, coated in a bright red light as it struck Cora in a gap at her side. She let out a pained groan as the shot bit into her, carrying enough force behind it to knock her back onto the floor. Elly skipped back from the Shade, swapping positions with Helbram as he charged in, shield still held in front of him as he barreled towards the downed woman.
“Spear!” he shouted, and as he thrust his free hand forward the weapon materialized out of a flash of purple light.
He thrust the spear towards a gap at Cora’s shoulder, throwing all of his weight into the blow. Before it struck, Helbram could feel something grab the spear, an unseen hand that had wrapped around the haft before the spear’s tip could strike the Shade. He let go of the weapon as it stopped and shifted his stance, driving the face of his shield forward as he continued to push towards Cora. His charge was stopped as he ran into an invisible wall.
Which is what he had been looking for.
“Burst!” he yelled, and as he did he could feel the heat building around him.
A gout of flame burst from the shield, knocking down whatever was in his way and striking Cora as well. The Shade rolled from the impact, the arrow at her side snapping as she did so. She leaned into the roll, attempting to recover to her feet, only to be knocked back down as an icicle struck her again. Elly snapped her fingers as it landed, scattering the ice into frost that once again coated her earthen barrier in a layer of white. Arrows followed soon after, but they splintered in mid air as they struck something that remained unseen.
Helbram picked his spear back and joined Elly in charging towards Cora, but before they could close the distance the Shade slammed her hand into the ground, and Helbram could feel the air grow dense around them. Elly appeared to have noticed as well, for the Weaver summoned a wall of blue light in front of her right as Helbram tucked himself behind his shield. A wave of unseen force struck an instant later, pushing both him and Elly back as they soaked the impact as best they could. They maintained their footing, but Helbram felt his body tremble from the attack.
He was struck at his side only a moment later.
The blow was softened by his brigandine, but it was soon followed by another, and then another. A constant rain of invisible attacks that struck him from every angle at an ever growing frequency. He twisted his body to cover his vitals, the rush of battle numbing the dull pain that was starting to spread across him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Elly was suffering from the same sort of assault, though the Weaver had managed to wrap her barrier around her before she was met with any direct blow to her body. Their eyes met for only a moment, but they shared a nod.
“Shockwave!” Helbram yelled, and he and Elly leapt towards each other.
The Weaver flared her hands out, expanding her barrier to encompass the both of them. The blows against Helbram’s body stopped, but before he could catch his breath the Aetheric shield around them trembled. An orb of condensed air struck the barrier, bursting into a concussive wave that scattered dust into the air around them. Elly dropped the shield soon after, but betrayed nothing but a wince as she shifted her feet apart and held her hands out. Green Aether wrapped around her palms as she brought them back, and Helbram stepped past the Weaver, raising his shield once again. Elly slammed her hands into his back, the winds that they carried throwing him forward as he felt his feet leave the ground.
He burst from the cloud of dust, tucking his spear’s haft close to his body as he kept its tip focused on the Shade, whose hands were now outstretched. His weapon would not find its target, however, for as he closed in on Cora the spear was intercepted by an invisible barrier. The sudden stop jerked his shoulder back, but he dropped the spear before his momentum was stopped entirely and skipped to the side. Unseen blows struck him again, one of which glanced off the side of his helmet. His vision shook and blurred, but he kept pushing forward and closed the distance between him and the Shade once again.
“Mace!” he roared as he held his hand out behind him.
The weapon formed in his hand as he brought it forward, aiming towards the side of Cora’s head. The blow landed, but the weapon trembled at the impact. While the Shade’s head whipped to the side and she staggered back, there was no visible damage to her face. She cut her eyes to him, fury burning within them as she threw her hands up. The ground at Helbram’s feet cracked before exploding upwards, shooting him and a gout of dirt into the air. He was struck at his side before he landed, the blow powerful enough to send him flying backwards. Before he struck ground, however, a glyph of green light formed behind him, and he could feel the winds wrap around his body as he passed through it. His descent slowed enough for him to get his feet under him, and he let himself slide back as he landed. Helbram kept his shield up and mace raised high, for he knew that Cora’s attention was still on him.
And not at the archer that flanked her from the side.
Two arrows flew from Leaf’s bow. The first hit Cora at the shoulder, but was unable to pierce through her earthen armor. The force behind it, however, was enough to twist her body and expose the gap in the rocks that covered her leg. The second arrow struck true, biting into the Shade’s thigh with enough force to bury itself halfway into it. Cora screamed and thrust a hand toward Leaf, but whatever unseen attack she threw never landed as the archer dashed into the trees.
Helbram heard the clash of swords behind them and spared a glance back.
Leon and Erik were locked in a melee, the two men’s movements too fast to register as anything other than blurs as they crossed weapons. Helbram could not see a weapon in Erik’s hands, but they moved as if they held one, and it was clear that he was proficient enough with it to keep Leon at bay. However, their melee was interrupted as a burst of gold light struck Erik at his side. It had come from Ren, whose staff was brimming with the same colored light. Erik staggered, and Leon took the opening, swinging his blade at the tavernkeep’s neck. The Black Cloak’s weapon was stopped just as Erik managed to raise his guard, but Leon leaned into the blow, overtaking the bind and managing to leave a gash across Erik’s shoulder. Before he could react, Leon slammed his forearm into Erik’s chest and charged.
They disappeared into the woods, and Ren followed after them.
“Helbram,” Jahora urged as she joined him at his side.
The Mage motioned around them, and he could see that Erik’s departure had taken his enchantment of invisibility with him. The earthen armor that wrapped around Cora was clear to see, made of a blacked stone that pulsed with yellow Aether. Her Puppets were of similar material, loose piles of rock that formed the semblance of a humanoid shape with larger stones making up their hands, legs, and torsos. There were five in total, but rather than charging at the party they had all started to gather around Cora instead.
The Shade’s eyes, while still narrowed in clear anger, held a focus to them rather than the blind rage she’d held before, and Helbram could only clench his jaw at the sight.
This was only the beginning.
___
Leon and Erik crashed through the trees as the Black Cloak kepting pushing forward. The snap of branches around them became deafening in its brief melody until the two men collided with a tree. Leon followed their abrupt stop with a stab towards Erik’s stomach, but Shade recovered quicker than he could predict. Erik’s hand swept to the side, the unseen weapon within its grasp deflecting the stab and redirecting into the tree itself. Before Leon could pull back, Erik slammed his forehead into the Black Cloak’s helmet. A foolish move for the average man, but Erik was not normal. The blow threw Leon’s head back and rattled his vision, and as he tried to recover another blow struck him on the chest. He was knocked from his feet and lost grip of his sword as he flew back, his body flailing through the air. His legs struck another tree and his brief flight stopped, leaving him a twisted heap on the ground. When he looked up, Erik had already closed in, his hand pulled back and ready to bring down his invisible weapon in a stab.
The blow never landed, a bolt of gold light struck the Shade in the chest. Erik braced himself and weathered the attack, but was still pushed back a few feet, which was enough for Ren to step between him and Leon. The Shade’s eyes studied the Cleric, who held his staff in front of him but kept one hand back. As Leon pushed himself back to his feet, he could see Erik’s shoulder wound close, its very flesh stichting itself back together by what he could only guess was some kind of spell or boon granted by Ether. Given that he could see no gesture performed, Erik surmised that it was the latter, which meant only one thing.
Erik was an Awoken.
The Shade’s Core was hidden, but based not only on his strength but at the rate of his recovery, Leon appraised him to be an Expert of the Second or Third level. On paper, that would suggest that the Black Cloak was not far behind in terms of strength, but experience had shown many times that was far from the truth.
He could study Erik no longer, however, for after his wound closed Erik stepped back from the duo, guard still raised. He took in a deep breath, and as he let it go, the Shade vanished.
Ren thrust his staff out the moment Erik disappeared from view, sending a pulse of pale gold light surging through the trees. It carried no force behind it, but as it washed over the area coated all in a sheen of gold.
Including Erik, who was right in front of Ren.
The Cleric pushed his free hand forward, forming a shield of light in front of him that intercepted the stab Erik directed at Ren’s neck. Leon lunged towards the Shade, reaching for the Core that pulsed at his chest. Ether of blackened gold flowed through his body and into his palm, condensing into a Fang, its shape similar to the sword that lay embedded in a tree. The Black Cloak dashed past his companion’s side and swung at Erik’s side, but the Shade hopped back before the blow could land.
Leon pulled from his Core again, but rather than direct it towards his opposite hand he forced the Ether into the air around him. Two Fangs apparated at the side of his head before shooting towards the Shade while Leon pursued. Erik hopped to the side to avoid the first Fang and deflected the second with his weapon. The motion exposed an opening in his guard, allowing Leon to land a blow at the Shade’s flank as he dashed by.
Erik gasped in pain as the blow landed, swinging his weapon towards The Black Cloak, which he soaked with his shoulder’s guard. The attack landed with enough force to knock Leon off balance, but rather than try and recover, The Black Cloak let himself stumble into a tree.
The one in which his sword rested.
With a single pull Leon freed the blade, pulling it back just in time to block Erik’s following attack. The Shade still had leverage over him, but before Erik could exploit it a lash of gold light wrapped around his arm and pulled him back. At the restraint’s other end was Ren, the symbol Velendel blazing upon his forehead as he clutched onto the lash with his free hand.
“You may have slipped my gaze,” the Cleric said, “But you will not avoid the Eye of the Watcher.”
Leon turned towards the Shade, shifting into a stance as he held both sword and Fang in hand. The figure of Erik, awash with golden light, dropped his enchantment and allowed himself to be fully seen. The wound Leon had given him was already closed, and the “weapon” he wielded was finally revealed; a mass of black, cragged stone that had formed the semblance of a sword. No doubt cobbled together by Cora as they had made their escape, but despite its rough and ragged appearance it was strong enough to deflect both sword and Fang alike, and Erik wielded it with clear proficiency.
“I suppose I cannot hide from the eyes of a god,” the Shade remarked. His free hand grasped the lash around his arm, “Tis good I’ve no need to.”
Erik threw his arm back, pulling Ren by the restraint and off of his feet towards the Shade. The Cleric appeared to anticipate this, and rather than try and fight against Erik’s strength he leapt with it, thrusting out his staff towards the Shade as he closed the distance. Erik stepped to the side and deflected the blow away from him, following it with a swing towards Ren’s head. The Cleric ducked under the blow and rolled, swapping places with Leon as the Black Cloak charged ahead. Sword and Fang lashed out, clashing with Erik’s makeshift blade as the Shade was pressed on the backfoot.
The Shade caught Leon’s sword in a bind and pushed it aside as he stepped into the Black Cloak’s guard. Leon swung his Fang to intercept, but Erik caught the blow with his arm. Though the blade of light drew blood, the cut was shallow and Leon’s arm trembled as if he’d struck rock. Erik showed no reaction to the injury and drove his palm into Leon’s visor. The blackened metal of his armor withstood the blow, but there was enough force behind it to throw Leon back and crashing into a tree. His vision went white momentarily, but as Ether pulsed through his body his senses came rushing back to him.
Just in time to see Erik lunging at him with his sword.
Leon jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow as it drove the craggy blade deep into the tree. The Shade let go of his blade and leapt after the Black Cloak, closing the distance between them within a breath. Leon swept his blades inwards, but once again Erik blocked the blows with his hands, suffering only shallow cuts in the process. Swords still buried into his arms, the Shade’s thrust his hands towards Leon’s head. Before he could fully grasp the Black Cloak’s helmet, Erik was pulled back by another lash of gold light, though Ren had attached its opposite end onto a tree. Leon regained his footing and lunged at Erik, but the man was still agile despite his restraints, slipping between each of the Black Cloak’s attacks with ease. He ducked under one swing and drove his fist into Leon’s breastplate.
The armor absorbed most of the blow, but enough shock made it through his protection caused the Black Cloak to stagger back. Erik grasped the last around his waist and pulled, his arms bulging as he groaned against the binding. Leon righted his stance and lunged back into the fray, but it was a moment too late. The tree that held Erik’s lash faltered against the Shade’s might, and a chunk of its trunk was ripped from its body as he pulled himself free.
And slammed it right into Leon’s side.
The wood splintered against him, knocking him from his feet and throwing him to the ground. Though he managed to keep a hold onto his sword, his concentration over his Ether faltered from the blow, and his Fang dissipated into the air. Control did not return to Leon’s body until he rolled into another tree, and even then he could feel his legs shaking as he tried to push himself to his feet. When he finally looked back at Erik, the Shade had already freed his cragged blade and was turned towards Ren. The Cleric stood his ground, a translucent shield of golden light wrapped around him as he held his staff with steady hands. Before Erik could move, Ren thrust his staff out and summoning four bolts of Aether from its tip. The Shade deflected the first two and weaved through the others, but the attack had bought the Cleric enough time to slam his staff into the ground.
As he did, light surged through the dirt and towards Erik’s feet. Threads of light burst from the ground, originating from the golden eye that emblazoned itself across the forest floor. They wrapped around the Shade’s limbs and pulled down, and though Erik managed to keep himself standing his movements were restricted. Ren ran towards the Shade then, fishing out a pair of Sealing Cuffs from his robes, but before the Cleric could get close Erik roared and threw his hands up, tearing, earth, dust and his restraints from the ground. Ren threw his staff in front of him, projecting a shield that blocked the rubble before he brought back the focus and swept it to the side, summoning a mass of golden light that struck Erik at his flank, knocking the Shade back.
Rather than pursue after him, however, Ren pulled back and ran towards Leon just as the Black Cloak got to his feet. None of Erik’s attacks had made it through his armor, but Leon could still feel the Ether within him working to right parts of him that suffered from the shock of the blows alone.
“He’s a tough bugger isn’t he?” Ren said with a sigh.
Leon nodded.
“I should say the same of you,” Erik called out.
The Shade emerged from the cloud of debris, his makeshift sword in hand. Though his clothes were ragged and torn, any trace of injury had vanished from his body.
“You both are as formidable as they say,” he said with a respectful tone, “The Blessed Infernal and the last Hound of the Rikards, but that is not all they call you is it?”
He pointed his sword at Ren, “The one lost in a hero’s shadow,” then to Leon, “Kinslayer.”
Leon grit his teeth and moved forward.
“Hold,” Ren said, “You’d be doing exactly as he wants.”
The Black Cloak’s hands shook, but he kept his feet still.
“What is it that you want with Aria?” Ren asked, “A Shade she may be, but to come all this way, to spend years watching over her, there must be a reason behind it.”
“Is it not obvious?” Erik asked back, “Can you not feel the power coursing through her?” he motioned around him, “The very chill that seeps into my bones, all through the restraints that a Chosen shackled upon her.”
“Yes, but how did you know?” Ren asked.
“Now you know I will not answer that,” Erik took a step towards them, “Can you afford to waste time with these questions? I imagine the others of your party are not faring quite so well.”
“Your partner is without the boon of your Technique,” Leon fired back, “I imagine that she is the one that is not faring well.”
Erik’s expression remained unchanged, “Who said she was without my enchantment?”
Leon paused. He’d clearly seen Cora’s earthen magics reveal themselves as he pushed Erik away. There were only five puppets under her control, unless there were mo-
“We need to get back, now,” Leon urged.
Erik leapt towards them, closing the gap between with enough speed that Leon barely managed to block the Shade’s swing. His eyes drilled into the Black Cloaks' own with a still, cold look that chilled Leon’s blood.
“I won’t be letting you do that.”
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Author's Note: Phew, gonna be honest it has been a hot minute since I flexed some of my action writing skills here. Its not as technique focused as the duel between Helbram and Leon since I wanted to use these scenes to establish a few things. The first would be the strength of Erik and Cora. I know they utterly defeated Helbram's party a few chapters ago but quite a few factors played into that to where Helbram's party was just in a terrible situation. Here we have Erik facing off two "higher level" fighters with less equipment, showing just how strong an Awoken can get, and then we have Cora, who admittedly took much more of a beating than Erik did but that plays into another thing I wanted to show case, and that is the overall teamwork of Helbram's party. Of course there are a lot of repeat moves from previous arcs and even within this fight, but what I wanted to hammer home was how coordinated the party was now that they've been traveling together for a while and how strong they could be when they aren't caught completely off guard. That and it has been literally months since I wrote the party actually fighting together so I decided to lean into that to give this fight an overall more "teamwork" feel.
Let me know what you think! Was there too much detail here or did you want to see more of a particular character shine in this chapter?
Also, some family stuff has come up so no chapter next week, but I will be back and ready to go the following week.
If you wish to read ahead and gain access to the audiobook version of this story, consider supporting me on Patreon (https://patreon.com/criticalscribe). If you want to leave a donation, here is my Ko-fi (https://ko-fi.com/criticalscribe). More than any of that though, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have yourself a very wonderful day! :)

The Days in Our Millennia
Stories of the Scions
New Recruits
2
The realm’s forces were gathered and the gods of Protection and Justice were going to come to blows, made all the more tragic as two angelic forces gathered outside the God of Protection’s palace. Wolven beings with wings and stood twice the size of a war-horse gathered on the border of the palace’s reach in the celestial realms. A single form clad in armor made of bronze and silver rode forward on a massive silver-furred wolf. It reached the gap of the drawbridge and raised a glaive, silver and shining, then lowered it and raised a shield. They were asking their opposition to surrender, one last time without words, a final chance at a peaceful resolution.
A war horn sounded deep in the palace.
The armored form sighed and shook their head in regret, then looked around. They caught the sight of a distant angelic being in odd garb with midnight black wings, probably here to document the events. The heavens loved their documentation, still they could tell the angel’s gaze was locked on them and it was very unsettling in a way they could not explain. The armored figure gave the command with their glaive raised.
The wolf they rode turned and ran several hundred feet, then turned and raced at the bridge. Then in a single massive leap it slammed into the raised drawbridge and smashed through it. The armored form dismounted in mid air and their glaive cleaved through several golden angels that fell clattering to the ground in pieces. Gears clicked loudly in the palace as the armored form marched forward, hearing the battle rage outside.
They came to a massive clockwork door and kicked it open, there on a now twisted golden throne was the God of Protection, now a tyrant swayed by some dark corruption. They marched forward and their opponent rose, producing a golden spiked chain that ended in a morning star.
“This is my-” The God was cut off as the armored figure of Justice raced forward and lanced their glaive out, it barely missed the startled God of Protection.
“I don’t care.” The voice of the armored figure was slightly distorted by their armor.
“Hale, we should talk. You need to listen, a dark force is rising. We need control.” The God of Protection raised his hands defensively.
“You had your chance.” Hale struck forward once again, “No longer will people suffer oppression under the guise of protection. Yield and face judgment or die in this tragedy of a throne room.”
The Corrupted God roared and lashed their chain forward, Hale’s shield was raised and the chain bounced off harmlessly. Then another strike lashed out and it too bounced off. Hale stepped to the side on the third lash and put their foot down on the chain and pulled hard with their leg. The Corrupted God stumbled forward and the silver glaive was there to meet his throat and remove his head.
Hale looked the scene over as the golden ichor of the god’s blood flowed from the stump. They took off their helmet revealing a woman’s scowling face as she surveyed the room once more before she turned to leave. As she approached the now claimed drawbridge she saw many golden angels vanish in clouds of golden dust, they would soon be reborn to new godly masters and serve a new cause, but it was always a sad sight. The drawbridge was down and the hole merely a small obstacle her forces helped her over. She directed her forces to a ridge where they could watch the scene unfold.
Once upon the ridge she watched as the castle slowly began to fade. The former god’s power was now being returned to the world to be recycled and a new god to be made or chosen. Another sad, but necessary sight. Then she noticed the black winged angel approaching her ridge. That was unusual, and the closer it got the more immediate the sense of something being very off became. When the being landed she was no longer convinced she was staring at just an angelic being, but something far more powerful in the guise of a weaker creature. As it landed it’s wings compressed into nothing and faded into its back. Definitely not a normal angel.
“Now was that really a challenge, beating a half starved god, corrupted and on his way out.” The “Angel” asked as he pulled out a small package from his odd garb then lit what looked to be a small piece of paper. “Smoke’em if you got’em, I’m here to chat.” He raised his small paper and offered her one from his package.
Cautiously she took the small paper and looked it over, it smelled of tobacco and other things. She looked at the man and nodded, motioning her forces to lower their raised arms. “I answered the call of the people, it was a duty, not a challenge.”
“Duty, you say.” The being nodded, his shaggy raven black hair blew in the celestial winds as he puffed out the smoke from his small paper. “It’s a hell of a duty to kill a god.”
“Then he should have not strayed from his path.” Hale stood firm, “He should have listened to reason, we would have helped him. He was once a brother in arms. But a tyrant is a tyrant, be they mortal or divine.”
“Astral Frieght.” The man extended his left hand.
She looked the hand and leered at the man.
“So you do believe in that here.” Astral snorted, and offered his right hand.
Hale tilted her head, trying to gauge this odd being, but shook it and offered her name, “Hale Alkan, God of Justice.”
Astral smiled, “That’s gonna get butchered to Hayley, I know it.”
By whom?” Hale asked.
“By my friends, my kind if you will.” Astral smiled as he dropped his paper to the ground and lit another one. “We’re on a level above yours. Where you deal with one world we manage countless sections of the Mutliverse.”
“That is an insulting way of talking to someone.” Hale noted.
“I don’t pretty up truth, God of Justice who slew her emperor in life.” Astral sighed.
“I did not slay him, I made him answer for his crimes.” She raised the paper up, “Now what is this odd thing you breathe in?”
Astral laughed, “Cigarette. Think like a pipe, but smaller. I got cigars if you want one.”
Hale nodded and motioned to her mount. The wolf approached and she dug in a saddlebag, she pulled out a beautifully decorated wooden pipe. “Do you mind?”
Astral gave a deep barking laugh and nodded his approval. “You. You got the spirit, that's for sure.”
“The spirit?” Hale stuffed her pipe, then lit it and leaned against her wolf while she patted it.
“She got a name?” Astral nodded to the wolf.
“Kyra.” Hale nodded, “She has been with me since I became a god.”
“She’s loyal.” He nodded, “She’d be welcome to join you too if you both wanted.”
Hale, once again leered at the man. “Speak openly, please.”
Astral nodded, “We’re about to have a nasty situation, one where we need numbers. I am a Scion and we need more Lesser-Scions.”
Hale nodded, she had heard of the Scions, so called Janitors of the Multiverse. She never understood why there were so few of them, but that apparently was being addressed. She tapped her pipe to her chin for a moment.
“It’s a challenge, but we have a duty, a responsibility to keep the multiverse healthy. One of our own fled her responsibility and is now positioning herself to do some dark shit.” Astral sighed, “So we’re looking to pad our numbers, make sure we don’t get caught with our pants down.”
Hale looked up at the angelic being and squinted as she tried to figure out if she had been scanned by a mind reader.
“You’re easy to read.” Astral smirked as he tossed the second cigarette to the ground. “Now, if you’re up for a real fight, we can get this show on the road if you’re interested.”
“I have questions.” Hale said as she emptied her pipe and motioned for her glaive and shield.
“Shoot.” Astral casually lit a third cigarette.
“Firstly, that cannot be healthy in such a quantity.” Hale nodded to the cigarette.
“We’re fuckin’ immortal.” Astral snorted, “Besides, ‘health’ falls under my aspect.”
“Which is?” Hale asked.
“Order.” Astral held the cigarette in his mouth as he took his long coat off and put it over a rock. His wings once again spread and Hale could almost feel the wave of power that rolled off them.
“And how do you function as a group, who leads you?” Hale asked.
“We’re a semi-autonomous group of high functioning lunacy.” Astral laughed, but sighed when Hale’s response was a confused squint. He shook his head and continued, “No real leader per se, we got one guy we all kinda respect, other than that we do our best to do the job and not lose our minds in the process. We got our own internal police in the form of the Scion of Destiny and our own advocate, the Scion of Defiance. You screw up to a degree we can’t fix, Destiny dolls out punishment. If they come after you for no reason Defiance has your back and that mother fucker is a bigger asshole than I am.”
“You enjoy vulgar speech.” Hale noted.
“Who the fuck doesn’t. Besides Heroism.” Astral snorted.
Hale raised a finger, “I believe I will understand that later.”
Astral nodded, “So offer’s still open. You interested? You ready to actually move worlds?”
“I’m ready to help those in need.” Hale nodded.
“I got a goddamned paladin here.” Astral laughed, “P’s gonna have a field day.” Hale readied herself. “My forces will not interfere.”
Astral rolled his eyes, “That’s good for them.” In a flash he was behind Hale and sent her sailing towards the edge of the ridge.
Hale drove her glaive into the ground and skidded to a halt, then spun just in time to barely dodge the fist that was directed to her face. She suddenly regretted starting this fight without her helmet, even more so when the punch ended in a thunderous crack despite hitting nothing. Still she swept her glaive down to the exposed fighter’s legs. They swept through air and she cursed herself for expecting a being with wings to remain on the ground. Then Astral was back a few hundred yards with his arms crossed, and a smile on his face as he continued to smoke his cigarette.
“Pretty good on the defensive, but can you get offensive?” Astral smirked.
This time Hale grinned and brought her glaive to both hands and caressed the edge, then slashed it in the air, gouts of silver dust floated around it then rushed forward as a beam of light. Astral moved out of the way with a smirk, until his cigarette fell from his mouth in three pieces. His gaze suddenly became a glare and Hale felt a chill run down her spine and felt like a child being pursued by a monster.
In a flash Astral was at her side and grabbed her arm, looped it through his own and tossed her into the air. As she rose into the sky she called forth a gout of bronze dust to provide her stability via her shield. Then all at once the shield was wrenched from her arm as a black shadow passed over her. She grabbed her arm in pain as it twisted unnaturally. She landed and rolled, holding her arm to her side and stood up with a glare at the landing angel who simply tore the shield in half as if it were paper. The gap in their power suddenly became crystal clear and she knew she had no chance at victory, but she would not falter. Astral began to walk towards her, slowly gaining speed with each step, she readied herself and lanced her glaive out at just the right moment. She watched the Scion’s hands pass through the godly blade and shatter it like glass, then she was blown back into a rock and had to struggle to breathe.
“Goddamn.” Astral cursed, “That stung...” He approached the downed Hale and closed his eyes.
Hale immediately felt better as he body returned to its state prior to the very quick brawl. Even her shield and glaive returned to her, fully repaired.
“I am not worthy.” She nodded, accepting her failure.
Astral laughed and squatted to be face to face with her. “You passed kid.” He smiled wide as he patted her cheek. Then he pulled his arm back and produced a contract glowing with a powerful white light. “It’s yours if you want it.”
Hale blinked in confusion.
“You never stood a chance, but you went for it. Hell we didn’t even have to fight, it was yours by your actions alone.” Astral laughed, “But I’m glad we got some exercise out of it.”
“We didn’t have...” Hale took a cleansing breath. “You are, as the common people say, a cad.”
Astral blinked, then burst into laughter, “Yeah, yeah. Pretty much.” He stood up and nodded.
“So, what do you say?” Astral extended his hand to help her up.
Hale took the offered hand and stood, then turned to her forces. Then looked at Astral with a look of concern and some traces of fear.
“You’re not obliged to, and it's not like you have to give up being a god.” Astral said, “Well unless they make you. We can’t stop that.”
Hale nodded, “I will be taking the Scion’s offer.”
The wolven angels and the dire wolves in her service bowed to her decree.
“Return home, I will discuss this with the others the first chance I get.” Hale nodded to her forces, then turned to Astral once again. “When do we--”
She was silenced as a door opened as Astral gestured to it. She had seen other gods pull such tricks, but this felt less like magic and more like reality simply acquiescing to a request. She stared down the long hall and looked once again at Astral.
“It’s a bit of a walk. Mostly so I can answer questions and to give you a chance to change your mind before you can’t.” Astral explained as he extended his hand and his coat returned to him. “Kyra can come with us if you want.”
“For now she should stay here.” Hale nodded nervously, she had no idea how the other Scions would take to a wolf the size of Kyra.
Astral nodded as they stepped through and the door closed. “That’s a shame, like everyone loves dogs and Wraith’s animal is also the wolf. Granted he uses the big black european wolves. I think it’s ‘cause he’s an Irish as hell son of a bitch.”
“That is rude.” Hale countered with a roll of her eyes. “You said Lesser-Scion is what I would be.”
“Basically most of us were mortal in some way before we became Scions. One or two of us were gods, the one who left us was always one though, the other ascended. Kinda like you.” Astral explained, “But where a Scion is tied to a broad concept, a Lesser-Scion is focused, more specific.”
“And I would be?” Hale asked.
“Thinking Noblesse Oblige, but I think Responsibility is easier to parse.” Astral nodded, “Opinions?”
“I would agree.” Hale nodded.
“Any other questions?” Astral asked.
“Any warnings?” Hale asked.
Astral paused and laughed for what seemed a solid minute before he collected himself and simply said, “Too many to count.”
Hale paused this time as she tried to comprehend the statement, then rushed to catch up. She suddenly very much regretted leaving her pipe with Kyra.
Then they came to a door, simple and wooden.
“Last chance Hale.” Astral put his hand on the door. “You sure this is something you want?”
“What I want doesn’t matter.” Hale nodded, “I have a duty.”
Astral paused and took his hand off the door. “Let me be clear. This is a hell of a responsibility, a duty not many others can expect to commit to, but it is also a choice. If you don’t feel you can commit by your own desire-” Astral silenced himself as she pushed the door open, then he smiled as they walked into the Dais Room.
“What is this place?” Hale asked in awe, she had seen godly places of gathering, but the simplicity and power in this room was something she had never felt before, it eclipsed even Astral’s power.
“Welcome.” A being made of crystal spoke as it appeared on the center Dais and descended to the floor. “I am the Scion of Destiny, you are the newest brought to us.”
“Lesser Scion of Responsibility.” Astral said, “Caught wind of her a long while ago. Circled back and picked her up for the journey ahead.”
“You are a Scion? Were you mortal?” Hale asked.
“No, but my primary concerns do not include mortals, but the Scions themselves. Should they step out of line, I am the force they meet.” Destiny said with a bow.
“And if glass-ass steps out of line, I smack him down.” A man who was leaning against a low set wall called out. He had shaded glasses on and was accompanied by a short red-haired girl. Both had pale skin compared to Hale’s umber tones.
“Hale, this is Alan Quain, the Scion of Defiance, and his daughter Anna, the Leser-Scion of Heroism.” Astral nodded.
“Ah, that’s what you meant.” Hale nodded, “His daughter you say?”
“Yeah.” Anna blushed, “I’m one of three Lesser-Scions that got the role without the Scions offering it. It just happened. It’s nice to meet you.”
Hale blinked and then nodded, “It just happened?”
“Only other two to get that to happen are Mercy and Terror.” Astral sighed, “And once you meet Terror you’ll understand.”
“Elbee just needs time to get used to people.” Anna said with a smile, “But he is a brat.”
“So this is your newbie.” Alan pushed off the low set wall and walked over, glancing down at Hale. “Man, I don’t get to say this often, but you’re shorter than me.”
“You seem tall enough.” Hale commented.
“Ah...” Alan looked at Astral, “Time period?”
“1500 CE equivalent.” Astral shrugged, “Maybe?”
“My dude.” Alan shook his head, “Your concepts include time.”
“I know!” Astral shouted, “I suck at timing and time stuff!”
Hale stared at Astral for a moment before he realized something.
“What do you mean ‘my newbie’?” Astral glared at Alan, “Who else got a new Lesser-Scion before me?”
Alan smirked, “I’ll give you three guesses and they all are gonna piss you off.”
“Hi....” A man only a few inches shorter than Astral seemed to peek out from behind him. He had solid lime green eyes and a mop of messy black hair.
Hale peeked behind Astral only to find no one was there. She blinked and shook her head, then went to ask Astral what was happening, but the man was now directly in front of her. Her mind raced with the possibilities.
“Oh she’s a good one.” The man smiled at Astral.
Astral sighed, “Hale this is Perfection, the Scion of Chaos. My opposite and don’t let the blatantly lazy attitude fool you, he's smarter and more powerful than he lets on.”
“Oh, you flirt.” Perfection gave a lecherous grin to Astral.
“Perfection is also taken and if I tell his lovely lady about this ‘incident’, she makes sure he suffers.” Astral grinned.
“Suddenly I feel less compelled to aggravate you today.” Perfection smiled and slowly slunk a foot away.
“Feeling better?” Astral asked, letting the annoyance seemingly melt away.
“I mean one of my best friends is gone. I’m not great, but we got work to do.” Perfection sighed as he then began to circle Hale. “Godly armor, check. Godly weapon and shield...” He looked at Astral. “You just ripped her right from the plane didn’t you?”
“We came right here, yes. Should we have not?” Hale asked.
Perfection sighed, “Listen, my lovely Astral’s a stand up guy but lacks a sense of style...” Perfection gestured to the black shirt and pants that Astral wore under his coat, then glance to Alan, “As do a few others.”
“Hey.” Astral and Alan said in unison, both clearly offended.
“I didn’t want to say anything.” Hale nodded.
Perfection clapped his hand excitedly. “Oh, you...” He laughed, “You, I like.”
“What have I done?” Astral groaned.
You know what...” Perfection smiled. “SAMMY, GET OUT HERE!” Perfection stepped to the side and a young man stood in his place.
The young man had combed back brown hair with a large cow-lick. He had golden-hazel eyes and a lopsided grin. A deck of playing cards rested in a sleeveless denim jacket. He was a few inches taller than Hale and pulled out a strange device that he turned into a comb with the push of a button.
“Well aren’t you a precious lookin’ thang.” Sammy smirked, his odd drawl seemed to accentuate the oddest parts of words.
“Oh god you got an Atom Cat.” Astral stared in shock.
“He’s amazing. I love him.” Perfection smiled. “Watch. Sammy, she needs to look the part of a Lesser-Scion.”
“Well, that I can handle.” Sammy circled Hale and pulled out a measuring tape. “Excuse me, my lady.” He took her measurements with a lightning flash rush of power and movement. “I got it all, we’re good.”
“For what?” Hale asked.
“What’s your name?” Anna asked quickly, “Before this one mentally scars you for eternity.” She glared at Perfection.
“Hale Alkan.” Hale responded, remembering she had not introduced herself to the rest of those gathered.
“Hayley!” Perfection grinned, “Lovely name.”
“Hale.” She corrected him, only to meet a sly grin. She suddenly felt like the mouse pursued by the cleverest of cats.
“Don’t.” Astral slapped Perfection on the back of his head. “Let her adjust before you torment the kid.”
“I am not a child.” Hale said in a huff.
“Forgive us.” A voice said as the room chilled greatly. “We are older than even a god can perceive.” Hale turned to see a floating set of robes with a hood, in the empty darkness of the hood were two glowing cyan eyes that somehow seemed to be smiling. Its arm was looped into the arm of a darker skinned woman with fire-red hair.
Hale froze, despite his smile the being before her had a more and air about him that felt like it was driving her into the ground, if she hadn’t been used to not needing to breathe she would have panicked when she realized she stopped. She had never met this being before but every instinct in her body told her she was staring at a Reaper.
“Oh my, you are distressingly easy to read.” The Reaper spoke, but he gently nodded to a chair for her to sit. “I am Wraith, the Scion of Death. Reaper of Reapers. You have no doubt seen my kin and ilk before. You have nothing to fear from me, Justice, not unless you fall to corruption as well.”
Hale felt her godly heart skip a beat, she could tell the warning was meant o be gentle, but she also could tell it was deathly serious.
“Heya bud!” Perfection waved.
“Wraith!” Anna rushed forward and hugged the specter by the waist, eliciting a playful ‘oof’ from the spirit.
Wraith’s eyes continued to form a smile as an invisible hand patted Anna on the head.
“Anna’s his favorite.” The red-haired woman smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Karma. Scion of Balance and Wraith’s wife.”
Hale blinked in astonishment. “Wife?”
Wraith laughed and shook his head. “Yes, we cannot be alone forever. Some of us live forever with our mortal family made immortal, some live with the spirits of our loved ones and others are perpetually accompanied by family and don’t feel the need to have such company.”
“Not us.” Alan clarified. “I got a slice of Heaven with almost all my ladies back in my Verge.”
“He isn’t kidding.” Anna crossed her arms, “He should just be glad my mom is among them.”
Alan blushed, “I can’t help it if the ladies like me.”
Anna sighed and rolled her eyes, “Anyway, welcome to the madhouse Hale.”
Hale suddenly felt even greater concern.
“Don’t worry about them.” Sam finally spoke up as he checked a device on his arm.
“He has a pip-boy.” Astral sighed.
“That’s a DM design.” Perfection smiled, then paused. “Maybe best not too-”
Sammy pressed a button and nodded. “All right Hale, imagine yourself as you would want to ideally be.”
Hale noticed light benign to glow around her body and froze in slight panic, but did as she was instructed. When the light died down she looked out on the Scions again then checked her hands. Her armor was gone, she was now in a strange silver and bronze outfit. She wore sleek pants with comfortable firm boots, a jacketed cover and soft, light shirt underneath. Then she was handed a mirror by Sammy. She looked and saw her black hair now had streaks of silver and bronze in it, and two wolf-like ears stood on her head. She smiled and saw more wolf-like canines. She held the mirror close for a moment before remembering she had an audience.
“Well now, that’s a look I can support.” Wraith laughed, a slight accent peeking through.
“Well that’s one way to do it.” Perfection admitted. “Not half bad Sammy. What do you think Hale?”
Hale took a moment to notice that the Scion of Chaos used her proper name this time. “I feel perfect.”
Perfection clapped and stepped back, taking Hale’s form and armor she previously had on. The change was perfect to the point that Hale herself stumbled back in shock.
“Forgive me, Perfection, but it will take more than shapeshifting to aggravate me.” Hale smirked, regaining her stance.
Perfection frowned in her form and shifted back to his normal form..
“You couldn’t tell it was him?” Anna asked.
“What?” Hale asked in return, “Of course I didn't, it was perfectly replicated, startling to be sure.”
Perfection chuckled. “You’ll need to forgive me for that. I can choose who sees me when I shapeshift.” He winked and changed once again, but this time it was just him wearing oddly proportioned and sized armor. He seemed uncomfortable for a moment. “Man, I don't have the hips for this armor.” He then returned to his normal form.
Hale let a small laugh escape her lips.
“There we go.” Perfection smiled, “The most important part of being a Scion.”
“Laughter?” Hale asked.
“Not taking the job or oneself too seriously.” Perfection smiled. “Now, I’m off to teach Sammy some of the funner parts of the job.”
“Wait.” Wraith said as he raised his hand. “Perhaps we should have another Lesser-Scion break them both in and slowly.”
“Oh!” Anna hopped up and down. “Me! Pick me!”
“Oh dear, it would be a hard choice.” Wraith laughed, “I think you would work fine Anna. Take them around a Marvel or DC world for warm ups.”
Anna smiled, “I know just where to go!” She stretched and a red dragon lurched forward from a red aura that formed around her. The dragon then ripped open a hole in reality.
“We have doors.” Destiny gestured to one of the many doors.
“But this is fun!” Anna chuckled and dove into the opening, then the dragon’s form completed and wrapped its tail around both Sammy and Hale, pulling them along for the ride.
“Well that’s gonna be interesting.” Alan laughed, “Wait, what was her concept?”
“Responsibility.” Astral said in horror.
“Parker’s gonna drive her mad.” Alan sighed.
“I’m more worried about Bruce Wayne.” Astral admitted. “They can bully Spider-Man, but Wayne will find a way around them.”
Perfection chuckled as he ate a single potato chip.
“You can’t take credit for this.” Wraith glared at the other Scion.
“Moi?” Perfection feigned offense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Get him.” Alan said.
At that moment another door opened up and DM, the Scion of Variable, walked in with a man with a red wide-brimmed hat and grin as wide as Perfection’s.
“I got newbie!” DM shouted.
“NO!” Alan shouted as he turned to see a variation of Alucard standing in the Dais room.
“DM, you idiot!” Astral shouted as he turned to look, then spun back to find Perfection had vanished. “Astral, me idiot!”
“He did it again!” Alan roared.
Wraith sighed and shook his head. “I hope they don’t lose too much sanity on this trip.”
Karma stood next to her husband and smiled, “Honey, Perfection got involved, sanity left a while ago.”
Wraith nodded and sighed as the Dais room erupted into Scions arguing with each other.
Alucard took a moment to walk over to Wraith and looked the reaper over before speaking. “So I’m told you need a guy to take over Madness?”
Wraith just looked up in confusion, he glanced to the balcony where Lachesis stood. She nodded and walked into a door to her own home.
“We may.” Wraith said, “Just give us a bit here.” He turned to the arguing Scions. “HEY, SHUT IT! WE HAVE WORK TO DO!” His full Irish accent broke through.
“Oh, I like you.” Alucard grinned.
“Would you be up for a position under Vengeance?” Wraith asked as he turned back to the vampire.
“I really like you!” Alucard laughed.
“I may have to rethink that.” Wraith sighed.
<<<>>>
The Scions are © u/TheSmogMonsterZX
Hale is © of Foxboy aka u/TwistedMind596
All other characters not a part of the Scion-Verge-Verse are © Their Original Creators and are not used with intent to infringe upon their creator’s rights.
First Story
Previous Story <<<<>>>>Next Story
SCIONS Spotify
<<< The Voice Box/Author’s Notes>>>
Smoggy: Told you all.
Perfection: Still a dick move.
Smoggy: Look, I get it, but the biggest change has now occurred.
Wraith: We can die. Well retire.
Smoggy: Eh, little of Column A, little of Column B.
DM: I don’t get it, we needed strong people...
Perfection: It’s not about the very questionable Lesser-Scion choice you made.
DM: Oh, well I’m good then.
Perfection: Where did this lovely lady Astral found come from though.
Smoggy: You don’t want to know...
Perfection: Come on...
Smoggy: (points to credits)
Perfection: (looks up) AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
DM: Is he foaming at the mouth?
Wraith: He is.
Smoggy: The meme will never die. AHAHAHAHA!!!
Wraith: Not this shit again!
DM: I’ll get the straight jackets.
Smoggy: And to clarify, it is pronounced “Hah-lei”.

The results are in for Match 11. The winner is…
Blake sighed as ｢Atomic Dog｣ shot the crossbow limb once more, ducking from his sightline to repair and reload. This battle of attrition had been going on for long enough, the air filled with hay and floors full of holes and decay. This wasn’t looking like it was going to end soon, not unless he figured out something.
Deacon similarly knew he had to end things soon, as he took cover inside one of the pens. The blacksmith sticking to the top of the map has been somewhat troublesome, as was that knife, but that didn’t matter—the hay was doing its job, and soon enough he would be able to finish this ballad. But then why did something feel missing? It felt like he was on the cusp of understanding something greater…could it be that he had even greater potential?
This train of thought was stopped by that dagger flying down between him and the pen’s occupant. Quickly, Deacon boosted himself out of the pen in order to relocate, but it seemed his opponent was one step ahead: a second dagger, the real one, flew right in front of him, the form of Blake appearing as he spun, shield swung straight towards the musician.
The effects of his Stand still slowed down that swing, but for a moment everything came to a crawl as Deacon saw into the shield’s metal frame: a dulled reflection replaced by a vision that enthralled him. This had to be it—this had to be what his potential could be like! It was reaching out to him, a desperate message to turn the tide of this battle! The figures were too blurry to truly see, the vision backdropped by a blackened sun, but he could make it out (had to make it out) if only he were to get closer, to reach out to it and—
The moment stopped, as did both Stand Users, as a thud came from the entrance to the stable, as a festival worker stared right at the aftermath of their chaotic brawl.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!”

It's a tie!? With a scores of 70!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Blake Smith	16 (3.5+3+2) - 14 (2.5+3+2)	It was a back and forth voting period, with Blake ending with a one vote lead!
Quality	Blake Smith	21 (6 7 8) - 20 (6 7 7)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Deacon Blues	23 (7 8 8) - 26 (9 9 8)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

Much later, after the two had fixed up everything that had been broken in the fight (“THE HAMMER LIKES COWS.”), they both found themselves sat on a bench in the middle of the festivities.
“…So.” Deacon began. “That person being kidnapped was…your customer?”
“Yes.”
“And you followed him to return his wallet, and found it happening?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t involved in it.” Technically untrue, but Sulka probably wouldn’t like Blake pointing back to him.*
“I see…” Deacon nodded, pondering to himself. “So you sell Stands?”
That caught Blake’s attention. “Yes—why, do you have a customer in mind?”
“A few,” Deacon replied. He could probably get help in investigating if this blacksmith really was uninvolved, but that wasn’t what was interesting him. He looked down at his trumpet, his reflection staring back.
What truly was his potential?

Want more fun after the festival? Come join a couple artists and park rangers stuck on a Ferris Wheel!

Scenario: Cafe, Reshmerasta — PM?
“...This is everything I could find.”
Honeydew Blue dumped a pile of various materials onto the cafe table: stacks of papers, medications, and even a tape recorder. Gioia had called in a meeting between two close allies in her search for information against Xenagoras, gathering within one of their many hideaways. She had requested the particular services of Honeydew Blue and Disco D. Lune–Honeydew was a self-taught infiltrator, and given that her architecture career involved so much funding, Disco was basically Evergreen’s financial wizard.
Disco immediately grabbed the papers and riffled through them, scanning them all quickly and efficiently. “This is evidence of securities fraud.” She said in a blunt tone. Gioia gave her an expectant look, waiting for her to elaborate- but she just never did. She just kept scanning. Gioia could make educated guesses as to what she meant, at least. Xenagoras seemed willing to do things he found distasteful if it served some larger goal; she wouldn’t doubt that he messed around with his stocks after talking with his buddies in Metropolis.
Disco looked at Honeydew, a curious expression on her face. “Where did you find this? Insider trading is hard to prove- the human mind is prone to uncertainty without “absolute evidence”, so this could put certain individuals in very high spirits.”
“Under his bed.” Honeydew straightforwardly stated. She pointed at a pile of medication in colorful packaging. “He takes all this stuff so he doesn’t go bald. He puts this on his face for acne, and this…” She picks up a green tube lipstick. “Is what he wore for his third anniversary. The acne cream tastes bad. The lipstick’s okay.”
Gioia raised an eyebrow at her, chuckling under her breath. She forgot how often it was she surrounded herself with complete oddballs. “I’ll be sure to note the flavour of his face when I’m after him. Where’d you find the tape recorder?”
Honeydew grabbed it. “I didn’t find it. It’s mine. I had been in his house for two days trying to record him saying secrets with his husband or boyfriend or whatever to take back home, but all I could get were business calls.” She was pretty clearly irritated at the outcome, the aggressive expression on her face frighteningly out of place with how used Gioia was to her usual “creepily serene”. She clicked the play button as the distinctive crackle of the physical media began to etch itself out of the speaker.
It was very obviously Sing Now’s voice on the other end of the line. They dithered about vague financial workings and the events in each other’s lives- small talk about Ichi, about Verve. Every once in a while, though? There was something that could be legally considered evidence. Proof that both Xenagoras and Sing Now! were connected to the Suite’s illegal backdoor dealings.
Gioia’s eyes went wide. “That’s fantastic!” Honeydew attempted to reply with a curt “No it isn’t. I wanted him-” before Gioia cut her off. “Keep that somewhere safe. Once we’ve struck a killing blow against the Suite, others can use that to make sure they stay in the ground.” She hopped out of her seat, revved up by the revelation.
“This is more than enough to prove his guilt. I’m heading out to speak with him personally. Get whatever you want from the cafe. It’s on me.”
“Before you go…” Disco said, stopping her in her tracks. “In a few minutes I’m going to send you some files. It’s the architectural info for some of his and his boyfriend’s primary meeting spots; houses, parks, and the man’s tea field. If your investigation doesn’t turn up anything, Honeydew can keep poking around to find anything else that can be used against them.”
Gioia nodded. “Good work, you two. I’ll keep you updated.”
Scenario: Urban Hymns Tea Estate, Sapatibhatt
Of all the endless indignities Charvet Champagne had suffered, this had to be one of the worst. The more he realized the true nature of this ‘vacation’, the more he tried to evade the endless meetings, events, and surprise paparazzi ambushes, the bolder they became.
Perhaps [Her] presence emboldened the hungry jackals in his management team, his social media team, his camera crew. This was the city of [Gossip] after all. No matter where he ran, prying eyes would always follow him.
Still, he refused to surrender. Running through the bush seemed like the only way to dodge the paparazzi, but now—with his beautiful outfit torn and crumpled, leaves scattered in his hair, and makeup smeared across his face—Charvet was beginning to have some regrets. It was not fun running through the dirt in heels.
However, after god knew how long, Charvet ended up at the top of a hill, looking down at curving lines of bright green tea plants. Though, at the bottom of the hill, something else caught his eye. A strange, shining silo stood out amongst the leaves. Curious, Charvet took a step forwards…before his heels snagged on the group. Tripping, Charvet fell right into the nearest shrub, before bouncing off onto the next, tumbling down the hill row by row.
For a moment, he resigned himself to dying in the most embarrassing way possible, before one of the bushes seemed to catch his fall. As the leaves lowered him to the ground, he could hear footsteps approaching. Through his blurry vision, he spotted a bearded man leaning over him, brow creased with concern.
“Are you alright?” he asked, extending a hand to Charvet. Slowly, the fashionista extended his own hand in return, letting himself be picked off of the ground.
“...I’m fine,” Charvet squinted, wondering if this was somehow contrived in order to humiliate him—maybe by his managers, maybe by God. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Oh, I’m just a tea farmer! My name’s Vasant,” he laughed. Charvet rolled his eyes at this man’s false concern, clearly just trying to get his guard down. He was about to make some snide remark, and excuse himself, when- “My cottage is close by. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like! I was going to make fish curry tonight–I got some fresh vegetables at the bazaar, I have dessert too! There’s hot water, and if you want, I could even stitch your clothes up.”
Charvet tensed a moment, looking around for cameras, before glancing back at Vasant.
The sheepish man had paused, backing up a step. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose! I just want to make sure you’re alright. But if you’re uncomfortable, let me just drive you back into town—or I could arrange a ride, whatever you prefer.”
Charvet paused for a moment, balking at the desperate sincerity that oozed from this man. Was it just because he thought Charvet would sue? But then why back off when he seemed uncomfortable, instead of pressing him? Charvet was used to the pressing, the poking, the prodding–he expected it. But this?
“...” At that moment, Charvet made a decision. “…How nice is your soap? I had better not see any of that two-in-one bullshit.”
Vasant laughed at that, clapping Charvet gently on the back.
“I wouldn’t dream of it! I love shopping for all that stuff…it’s what makes the grind worthwhile,” he sighs, before grinning back at Charvet. “That, and getting to share it.”
…
An hour later, Charvet emerged from his bath, only to find his clothes sewn up and placed outside his door. The air swirled with rich, warm spices, and Charvet found his mouth already watering. Surely he shouldn’t stay–he didn’t know this man, and this comfort food would surely ruin his diet…but to hell with his diet!
As he entered the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance around the space. It was comforting in every sense of the word, its wooden walls decorated with little trinkets, crafts, and domestic comforts. Charvet couldn’t help but slowly sink into one of the chairs, watching quietly as Vasant stirred a bubbling pot. A moment passed, the man caught up in his cooking, before Charvet cleared his throat. Vasant swerved around, “Oh, you’re back! How was the bath? I hope the clothes are to your liking!”
“...The bath was nice,” Charvet responded, his voice briefly stripped of its regular cattiness. “The clothes are nice too.” A pause. “Thank you.”
Vasant beamed at that, eyes aglow with sheer delight. “Wonderful, wonderful! Well, I’ve just gotten started on dinner–you’re free to leave at any time, but you’re more than welcome to stay!”
Charvet stalled a moment, tapping his fingers on the tablecloth. “...I’m not going to sue you, for the fall.”
Vasant blinked. “Oh, were you… going to before?”
“Is that not why you’re doing this?”
“What?” Vasant responded, “No, no, you got hurt, and I was there! What else was I going to do, just leave you? Besides, this house gets lonely when my…partner gets home late. I’m happy to do this, really!”
“Your partner…? So you weren’t trying to get with me? That was going to be my next guess,” Charvet replied.
Vasant froze for a moment, before laughing yet again. “You’re a funny one,” he smiled, before picking up an antique tin kettle, and pouring a cup of steaming tea into the cup he set beside Charvet.
“Now, if it’s alright, can I get your name? It’d be a bit strange to just call you…well, ‘you’.”
Charvet hesitated a moment, watching the tea bleed into the water. “...You really don’t recognize me?”
“Should I?”
“No,” Charvet sighed, before giving the man a grim smile. “It’s best if you don’t.”
Vasant smiled back, similarly grim, a look of recognition. “This cottage is good for that, you know. It doesn’t matter who you are, here. All the business, all the money, all the gossip…none of it matters. It’s a place where you get to leave it all behind,” he sighed, before taking a long sip of his own tea. “It’s a place to become someone else.”
“Someone else? You seem to have quite a nice life,” Charvet commented.
“I do,” Vasant nodded, face flushing. “This place is my dream…especially when I get to share that dream with others. It wasn’t always like this. When you’re making ends meet, when you’re trying to keep your family afloat…you don’t get the luxury of ‘nice’. I wasn’t allowed to be soft, back then…but now, I want that softness more than anything. You get it, right?”
“Of course” Charvet whispered, feeling all those years of expectations dissolve like the sugar in his tea. Taking a sip, he let himself enjoy the moment, knowing in his heart it wouldn’t last.
…
An hour softly passed, as the two sat around the table, eating curry and trading stories. Charvet wasted no time prying into who ‘Xenny’ was, and he soon began trading stories about Red Barchetta. It seemed they both had a thing for gingers–go figure.
Vasant would occasionally get distracted–glancing at his phone or looking to the door–but he remained a generous host throughout. The man was obviously delighted to have a guest, and Charvet found himself rather charmed by his earnestness. Vasant insisted that his partner would offer a ride once he arrived, even if this ‘Xenny’ was quite late.
Eventually, there was a flash of light out the window, headlights rolling down the driveway. Vasant stood immediately, eyes shining, love curling off of him like gouts of steam. Charvet leaned forwards, curious to see who the lucky guy was.
That was when the door slammed open. The man who stood there was thin and wiry, with an eyepatch over one eye, and the other wild with adrenaline. A gash had been opened on his arm, still bleeding.
“Vasant, I-” and then he stopped, gaze locking onto Charvet. For a moment he was still, frozen with panic, before it all twisted into rage. “Who is—you know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t care which little clubhouse you belong to, you should not be here.”
Charvet stood up, hand out in a pacifying gesture, preparing to use his signature Champagne Charm—
When Xenagoras whipped out a gun. The weapon was a stark, cold white, its barrel aimed directly at his forehead. “If I see so much as a flicker of an aura, I will kill you where you stand. Are we clear?”
Charvet swallowed hard, feeling a tremble in his hands. “Don’t be uncouth, there’s- no need to- resort to violence.”
This was enough to break Vasant out of his shock, as he moved to clasp Xen’s shoulder. The man flinched, almost moving the gun on reflex, before holding fast. “Xen, I just found him in the tea fields- I don’t even know if he’s a Stand user-”
”Of course he’s a Stand user, Vasant. Don’t be dense.” Vasant shrunk for a moment, before Xenagoras sighed and continued. “Look, Vas…I know that you’re a kind person, but that’s what these people are trying to take advantage of,” he spat, glaring at Charvet.
“I… am afraid I don’t know what you’re talking a-”
”Bullshit. Here you are in my house, talking to my boyfriend, right after- did that woman set you up to this? Trying to get at me through him? I should- I should kill you-”
”Xen, please!” Vasant pleaded, catching a glimpse of the confusion and fear in Charvet’s eyes.
“...” Xenagoras paused a moment, before stepping away from the open door, motioning to Charvet with a sharp tilt of his head. “Get off my property. Now.”
Slowly, Charvet began to inch towards the gun, giving Xenagoras a glare. “Fine, fine. I’m more than happy to leave this kitschy dump,” he sneered, before his gaze caught Vasant’s…revealing just a flash of genuine betrayal. “Ugh, imagine if the paparazzi found me here…I wouldn’t be caught dead in this ugly, grimy, rats’ nest.”
Then just like that, he strode out, slamming the door loud enough that no one could hear the shudder in his breath. Then, glaring at that white silo towering above him, Charvet started walking, unsure when he’d get another chance to stop.
As Charvet trudged down the path away from the abode, he ran into not the paparazzi, but instead another celebrity.
There was a twinkle of recognition in his eye as the star rushed by him, but instead of continuing along her path, she turned—nearly skidding to a halt—and pointed at him. “You,” she snapped a few times, trying to jog her memory as her mind was already racing. “You were in Monaco last year, weren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m everywhere, darling,” Charvet purred in his usual conversational tone. “You’re going to have to be more speci—!?”
Gioia had marched up to him, taking him by both shoulders and leaning close, as if worried someone may overhear them in this vast tea field. “Aniketos’s retirement is a cakewalk compared to what’s going on here; cloaked daggers driven into the backs of way more than just catty models.”
His shoulders released, Charvet stumbled back, about to protest at the epithet, but Gioia continued. Xenagoras had escaped her once, but his escape had led her here. “I’m gonna confront them, I just need you to stand watch from a few meters out.”
Gioia’s tone was deathly serious, preparing for more than mere words. Charvet, himself had gone silent: he had had a gun shoved into his face, perhaps this was a way to return the favor. He swallowed his pride and tasted bitter spite on his tongue. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”
The teacup rattled gently as Vasant set it on the table, though maybe that was the tremor in his hands. He had just finished cleaning and bandaging Xen’s wound, though a tense silence had endured throughout. Finally, Xenagoras broke it, staring at his steeping tea. “I’m only harsh because I worry, Vas. What if he had hurt you?”
Vasant’s brows furrowed, as he pulled up a chair next to his boyfriend. He could feel his heart hammering in his ribs, and struggled to keep his breathing steady.
“He...didn’t hurt me, Xenagoras. I’m alright. But, you were- who did this-”
“All these little Stand user enclaves, they keep causing trouble,” he muttered to himself. “And none of them understand why I’m doing this. They don’t understand- I’m trying to help them.”
“Of course you are, Xen-”
“See? You understand. You always…I know what that place did to you, Vasant. The way it haunts you. Sure, you managed to escape and become something more, but so many didn’t- Mithra, Rasna,” he shuddered at the mention of them. “That place ruined them, and it drove them to ruin others. So many young people throwing their lives away, or else they’re killed. You could have died there, Vasant- died without ever having this- died before I ever met you.”
He grasped the other man’s hand, eye wild and insistent. Vasant swallowed, feeling each breath start to fray. He could have died. There it was again–orange burning in the corners of his vision. That tiger, still hunting him no matter where he went.
“I thought the Metropolis Suite would understand that–” Xen continued, “we’re supposed to better this city, after all. I’m supposed to- I know how to make it better, Vas.” His grip tightened. “All of it. But they’re trying to stop us, Vasant- that’s why I had to make a show of force.”
Vasant could feel the tremble spread from his hands to his arm, chest, stomach. “Who’s trying to-”
”Everyone.” Xenagoras leaned in, until the sight of him filled Vasant’s vision. ”Ms. Aco may have claimed to have Bedtown’s interests in mind, but it was all a front to take us down. But that ｢Diamond Life｣ mishandled things and ruined that region yet again. Who takes the fall for all of that? It’s not them, it’s not Sing Now!,* it’s me! I’ve been with them for- for decades and they just- they won’t let me fix my city. That’s all I’ve ever wanted- and I’m so close.”
He leaned into Vasant, until their foreheads were touching.
“We’re so close, my love. I promise, I can still fix this, all of this. Our future is just within reach–the life I long to give you, the one you deserve. It doesn’t matter if the whole world is against us.”
Vasant let his breathing slow, let it fall in sync with his lover’s breath. As he let his gaze focus on Xenagoras, that burning orange began to fade. The phantom pain deep in his organs finally uncoiled.
That’s right. He was safe now. Safe within the home they made together. Safe inside their love. Xenagoras would take care of him, and he would take care of Xenagoras. This would be their domestic bliss.
“As long as I have you,” Xenagoras smiled, “that’s all that-”
His words were cut short–strangled in a headlock–as that orange light burned pink.
A Stand.* Before either could react, it had crashed through their window, tearing Xenagoras away. It held him tight, the vice clamping down the moment he tried to struggle. His breath stolen, fearing that this being would snap his neck, Xenagoras went limp with shock.
“Vasant Verve.”
The Stand inclined its head to where a young woman vaulted through their broken window, alighting with a fire in her eyes. Vasant found he couldn’t speak. The pain in his guts grew sharper than he’d felt in years. Like the tearing of claws, or a thousand papercuts.
“Right where I thought you’d be.” She stared at Xen out of the corner of her eyes, giving the man a sneer. “Both of you.”
”Wh-what-? What do you want from us…?” Vasant croaked, feeling tears burning in his eyes.
But the woman just continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You see, I wanted to know where you would flee to, Xenagoras. I was obviously an unknown enemy Stand user.” She stepped closer, gazing back at him with sheer disdain. “Surely, your best bet was to go to your associates at the Metropolis Suite, but you didn’t. Did you really lose that much favour with the Suite so quickly? Surely they would help you, if only to protect themselves.”
She clicked her tongue, pacing back and forth in front of him, before giving Vasant the full brunt of her piercing gaze.
“No. No, you ran to your Standless boyfriend. Doesn’t that seem strange, Xenagoras? Isn’t it odd that, of all people, you’d go to him for protection?”
Though his own throat felt choked in sympathy, Vasant tried to speak.
“Why are you… here, young lady? What are you-”
“My name is Gioia Arancini,” she responded, pointing a finger to the heavens. “I am a rising star whose light illuminates the darkest shadows. Your boyfriend is dragging you into the sort of paltry power-grab I’ve seen a thousand times. Did you think that I would simply let it happen?”
The pain was threatening to boil. Vasant could almost see his organs unfurling, painting his home red. She was in his home. They were supposed to be safe here.
“I don’t know what you’re-”
“Oh, but you do, Vasant.” Gioia scoffed, as her Stand briefly tightened its grip on Xenagoras, eliciting a choked gasp of pain. “You see, the Moonbeam Riders have been a great help–Inago’s a good detective: he saw you both, and knew this one summoned that empty city—messing with my job, might I add. From there, the pieces fell into place: Xenagoras’s deals with Night Train, his business with his Bazaar, the fact he knew enough about Evergreen to ban us all for the actions of a couple people.” Stepping towards Vasant, she brandished her finger at him.
“Then there’s you. Following him around like a lost puppy. A popular, celebrated tea farmer, with no experience. The Verve family was mostly pit miners, yes? Until your father’s termination. Yet, you never took up the trade.”
His heart was beating in his ears. His blood boiled inside of it. Vasant couldn’t breathe. Not with her claws in him. “How did you-”
“Instead, just a couple years later, this no-name gang was the talk of Bedtown. People say it because of the young man who joined them. His presence towered over him, as grand as an elephant, crushing everything in its path.”
She stepped forwards, grabbing him by the strap of his apron, eyes burning into him.
“What was it they called you, Vasant?”
It hurt. He didn’t want to go back there. Back to those twisting roads, the grime, the screams, the blood. He had faced such terrible things, there. He had done far worse. Things were supposed to be different now. He was supposed to have a better life. A cozy home. He was supposed to have-
He looked back to Xenagoras, as the man limply clawed at the Stand’s arm, tears beading in his eyes. For the briefest moment, their eyes met. The man mouthed Vasant’s name like a prayer.
Something snapped. The kettle boiled, screaming.

CRASH!

Wood splintered and flew across the room as a massive arm smashed through the wall, its fingers coiled around Gioia. Before she could process what was happening, she was flung out of the cabin.
When Gioia assigned Charvet to be lookout, he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do about a Stand the size of a house. One moment, he was staring at the curving ridges of the field, the next, there was a massive shrouded figure kneeling next to the cabin, and then hurling Gioia through the air like a doll. As his own Stand aura blazed to life, his ｢Freakum Dress｣ darted forwards to catch the woman, while Charvet continued to stare at the enemy.
“Wh- who’s Stand is that!? That business bitch?”
“Wrong.”
The moment Gioia was safely caught, she leapt back out of Freakum’s arms, ｢Love Kills｣ landing beside her.
“That Stand belongs to Vasant Verve.”
As the massive Stand turned to face them, she regarded it without a shred of fear. Her plans hadn’t changed. If anything, the appearance of ｢Cage The Elephant｣ was exactly what she was hoping for.
“Come here and face me, Gajasura!” She yelled, pointing at the door…before it swung open. Vasant Verve walked out alone, smiling. Not some cruel grin, but something warm and welcoming, creasing the crow’s feet by his eyes.
“Ah, sorry if you expected to fight him!” he apologized, bowing his head slightly. “He’s been dead for a couple decades now. I’m just a tea farmer.”
“You’re still lying?” Gioia hissed, “Even while caught in the act? Even with ｢Cage The Elephant｣ itself Standing behind you? Are you really that delusional?”
Vasant paused for a moment, and then laughed, the sound warm and boisterous. Charvet and Gioia exchanged a brief look, muscles tensed.
“People are still calling it that, are they? Haha…guess it makes sense.”
“Is that not the name of your Stand? The beast that’s been rampaging through Bedtown?” Gioia curled her fingers, bracing to strike. “The demon Stand that burnt Minali? That hurt my friend?”
For a moment, Vasant’s smile faded into something solemn. “I’m sorry about all that, I just got a little overwhelmed. I promise, things are different now!”
“Then what is all this carnage for, Gajasura? What has that man promised you? Fortune? Fame? A chance at your old glory?”
Again, he laughed. “I told you, young lady…the Gajasura’s gone, now! So is ｢Cage The Elephant｣.”
“Enough of this,” Gioia sneered, before catching the eye of Charvet, who had begun to sneak around behind the man. A Stand that large couldn’t be very dextrous, and its user seemed soft in his old age–a coordinated attack should be enough to take him down. Even with its heat attacks, as long as Gioia drew its focus, Charvet could sneak in.
“This ends n- !?”
Suddenly, the plants around them burst upwards, coiling around Gioia and her Stand and flinging Charvet towards them.
“I’ve changed,” said Vasant, grinning with delirium. “They call me Vasant Verve. I’m a tea farmer in the Sabatiphatt, I’m the lover of Xenagoras Nagakar-Yu, and this…” he gestured up at the Stand towering above him, as it pulled its tarpaulin cowl into a cape, revealing itself to the world.
“Is my ｢Bitter Sweet Symphony｣!”

FWWWWWTTTT!

The Stand trumpeted loud enough to shatter the sky, shining in the fractured light. It had the shape of a bipedal elephant, but the hide of a kettle. Tin and glass, ancient and new.
As their Stands attempted to struggle free, the gears in Gioia’s mind turned frantically to form another plan, but Charvet looked back to Verve, to see the man trembling and teary-eyed with joy. He frowned a moment, trying to find the words. “Are you doing this for him?”
Vasant’s eyes lit up even brighter, illuminated by the mention of him. “Yes, yes of course! The things I’ve done, everything I do, it’s for him! It’s for our life together!” He laughed again, tears boiling and trailing down his cheeks. “It’s all for love!”
Charvet found a thousand insults boiling in his mind, words to strike right to the heart of this cloyingly naive, empty-headed, disgustingly desperate man, and the twitchy, heartless control freak that latched onto him. But he paused, remembering the taste of chai, and chose to temper that impulse one more time.
“You’re doing this for him–but are you certain loves you back?” Charvet briefly struggled against the plants to punctuate his point, though he could feel them threaten to unravel Vasant’s stitches.”What will you do when the excitement fades, and he’s still using you like a blunt weapon? What happens if he doesn’t let you leave? What then?”
Vasant paused for a moment…as ｢Bitter Sweet Symphony｣ caught Charvet’s eyes. Its head seemed to lower just slightly, in some kind of acknowledgement. Finally, Vasant began to speak…and someone else glided through the entrance, a baleful light now taking the form of Xenagoras himself.
“Excellent work, my love,” Xen smiled, as Vasant basked in his ghostly presence. ”You make a wonderful protector. But you need not fight alone.”
Finally, ｢Love Kills｣ freed an arm, slicing at the leaves around it. “What did you do to yourself?” Gioia demanded.
“I couldn’t stand to be apart from my man.” Xen’s voice echoed, as if speaking from a distant place, and turned commanding towards Vasant. “I’m right here, Vee. Once more, it is the two of us against the world, but we’ll prevail. Let me guide you—I know just what to do.”
With a snap, Gioia managed to tear the plants off of her and Charvet, grabbing the man by the scruff and pulling him to his feet. “It was a good attempt,” she sighed, “but until we knock some sense into him, that man’s too far gone. But if we succeed here, we may very well take down a major member of the Metropolis Suite. This is our first step at throwing off the chains that bind this city. That is why we must fight, as we have always fought. Are you ready, Charvet Champagne?”
Charvet paused for a moment, before a unit of his first ACT skittered down his arm, squeaking up at him. No, it seemed he couldn’t rest quite yet. “Darling, I’m always ready. Let’s give these bastards a messy breakup.”
He glanced over to see Vasant still smiling and shaking, burning in his boyfriend’s radiance, a kettle set upon a white flame. He saw Vas reach out to touch his boyfriend’s face, but his hand passed through. Still, Xenagoras smiled back at him with cold adoration. He leaned in close, whispering into his lover’s ear. “Now, what do you say?”
Above them ｢Bitter Sweet Symphony｣ let loose a cry, like the trumpets of war. Like wedding bells.
Giddily, Vasant smiled, and his heart was full.
“Open the game~!”
Location: The Urban Hymns estate. This estate is massive, with the map being 200x200 meters. The estate is dominated by a hillside, with a tourist center and gift shop to its west, processing area to its east, and Vasant’s home to its south.
Vasant Verve (the red star) begins outside his house, while the players (the blue star) are slightly up the hill, roughly 40m away from him. Noted on the map are Square One vendors (red squares), which any player may use.
On the map are a variety of tea pickers, tourists, and other similar people, and there are a variety of trails on the map between the rows of bushes.
Note that the areas on different elevations have been picked clean to different amounts; the lowest bushes only have enough leaves to sustain the bushes’ life, while further up they’re less cleaned off. The bushes around Vasant’s cottage haven’t been touched.
Goal: RETIRE your opponents!
Additional Information: Although Xenagoras is “present” in this match, this means nothing mechanically other than ｢Square One｣ being in effect. RETIRING Vasant is all the players need to do to win the match.
The NPCs on the map are tea pickers, tourists, and tea processing staff. All have 222 physicals, 3 in their ‘role’, and 2 Doing What They Came Here To Do. They aren’t going to listen to Vasant (or the players) to do anything that doesn’t fit with their jobs or do anything besides what they’re actively supposed to.
Importantly, Vasant seriously harming or RETIREing any of these NPCs is considered a hard LOSS condition; he must firmly establish a disguised player as disguised before he may engage, or establish that a player isn’t just a disguised NPC.
Each entry in a character's listed equipment is considered “1 Equipment Item” when sold to ｢Square One｣, thus “stacks” of items (such as Vasant's box of 200 sachets) may only be sold in bulk for 15 Clocks.
Square One Catalog:

White Shadow	Notes	Cost		Sale Item	Sale Price
Escape From ｢Square One｣	The ability to leave ｢Square One｣. If not paid, it will forcefully ‘buy’ body parts after a while.	5 Clocks (+ 1 for every purchase after the first)		Any White Shadow	1 Clock
Tea Sachets	The bag part of tea bags	5 Clocks		500 Tea Leaf Bundle	1 Clock
Clothing	Various types of clothing, specifically clothing used by tea pickers, roasters, and the staff generally on site. Ask for specifics.	5-15 Clocks depending on specificity of outfit		10 Units of Currency (e.g. Euros, etc.)	1 Clock (Gioia has enough cash for 30)
Glass Baubles	Thin glass baubles the size of a baseball that are both opaque and hollow. Can come in different colors	15 Clocks		Freakum ACT 1 Outfits	1 Clock
Gardening Tools	Any tools you could use to garden, though they are all hand tools.	15 Clocks		Freakum ACT 2 Hats	2 Clocks
Sheet Metal	0.5x0.5 meter squares of sheet metal. As malleable as you would expect them to be.	20 Clocks		Equipment Item	15 Clocks
Small Trellis	A trellis 1m high and 0.5m across, which are built to have plants grow on them. While made of otherwise light wood, they’re extremely durable due to the effect of ｢Square One｣.	30 Clocks		1 Tea Bag of Processed Tea	25 Clocks
Large Trellis	Same as above, but these are 3m tall and 2m across	50 Clocks
Binoculars	High quality binoculars that can aid with scoping out the entire tea plantation	80 Clocks
Golf Cart	A small golf cart that seats two maximum and can travel up to 15 MPH, though slower on hills.	150 Clocks

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
The Verdant Willow	Gioia Arancini and Charvet Champagne	“The features of a person’s face will determine the course of their fortune. A person with a face to be loved will find themselves true love.” There’s no way you’ll let their sick love decide your fortune! Make your own future and show off your inner beauty!
The Metropolis Suite	Vasant Verve and Xenagoras Nagarkar-Yu	“Tiziano…I will kill him for you, and when I’m done…there won’t be anything left of his corpse.” Just the two of you against the world. Show your love!

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