First Prev
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore
Memory Transcription Subject: Elias Meier, Former UN Secretary-General
Date [standardized human time]: July 13, 2160
The irritability coursing through my psyche was palpable. Every sound was dialed up to eleven, stabbing at the core of my sensory processing. Constant awareness grated on me after days without sleep, never having any break from the stream of information I needed to digest. There was no way to shut the world off and reset, and no reprieve from the unsettling reality of my physical experience. I was curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth; I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on like this.
Virnt scuttled over to me in the spaceship, jostling my shoulder. “Elias? Would you like to turn back from this mission?”
I remembered how I’d spent most of the trip, standing under the water in the shower. There was a special shampoo they’d provided for synthetic hair, like a wig. I held out my phony hand and emptied most of the bottle’s worth of goop, zoning out; I was trying to soak in the distant sensation of liquid running down my spine. Once upon a time, this had been the most relaxing time of my day—letting muscle tension fade away and cleansing grimy skin oils. Now, I knew neither of those two still existed in my day-to-day life to assuage.
Did it even matter to slap soap on some metal frame? There were no consequences of letting hygiene go by the wayside. I didn’t sweat in order to start to reek, and I couldn’t get skin conditions or be affected by bacteria. It could be that I was bathing out of habit, clinging to my old lifestyle, that I kept going to wash up. Perhaps the shower had become my favorite haunt because I felt disgusting in this body. Everything was a reminder that I was an inhuman scrap pile, and it was wearing on my sanity. It wasn’t like anyone related to what I was going through.
I used to spend so much time fussing over making my suits look crisp and perfect—immaculate ties, UN pins adjusted just right. The heavy jackets would trap my body heat in the summer; now, it no longer had that effect. I could bundle up as much as I wanted in 40 degree Celsius heat, unless there was some limit that would fry my circuits. Shit, I might not need a spacesuit in the vacuum of space—I couldn’t freeze or suffocate, after all. Being left out in the void for all eternity didn’t sound that much different from my present experience.
I hate what I’ve become. I hate what they’ve done to me; all I do is think, and every part of my new self lives in the uncanny valley. There’s nothing positive. Maybe it’s time to call it…death was better than this. I can’t bear another day of this hell.
“Hey, stay with me! Distractibility, depression, being unable to maintain concentration—these are natural consequences of sleep deprivation. I’m surprised it carries over without a physical mechanism to grow tired…but I’m working on a sleep suite, I promise,” Virnt said, glossy eyes staring at me.
I groaned. “I’m not tired, but it’s just nonstop. I…I’m having trouble remembering what I read.”
“Here, I’m going to try a temporary fix. You look like you need it. I don’t want you to suffer; just turning you off and on isn’t the same. I’m going to emulate GABA, uh, shut off your optic sensors, decrease the activity in your prefrontal cortex, and simulate delta waves for an hour. We can see if it somewhat fills the need for deep sleep, okay? Relaxation, no processing: worth a shot, right?”
I nodded mutely, staying in the fetal position. I didn’t have the will to move, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up that Virnt’s plan would be any mercy. The sensation of the Tilfish tinkering with my settings was strange, as if my brain was being overridden in the moment. There was no process of falling asleep to give it the air of naturalness. Suddenly, I was blind, trapped in darkness—and a modicum of drowsiness kicked in, limiting my movement. Thoughts died down, offering much-need relief; I faintly wished I could remain in this state.
When I came to, there was a sudden influx of information as the rest mode was switched off; it was hardly a seamless waking, but I’d take it. Peace in my own head was something I’d never take for granted again. I hadn’t thought myself to be a weak-minded individual, but I hadn’t realized how much it wore on you: feeling out of place in your own body every waking second, and not trusting your senses. Brain function had been restored enough that I could get a grip on myself, and rise in my disheveled state. A peek out the window revealed we’d completed our intra-atmosphere transit to the Duerten embassy.
I rubbed my eyes on reflex, but there were no gifts from the Sandman there. “Why couldn’t you have just added everything to start with, Virnt?”
“The humans I talked to said they wouldn’t want to sleep, unless they had to! I put the most focus on your emotional matrix and your facial expressiveness, since I thought that has the highest importance of what makes you human,” the Tilfish replied.
“You could’ve made it at least optional.”
“I sent the option to your holopad for the future, to trigger this program for as long as you’d like. This is a learning process, so I’m sorry for anything that’s off. All trial and error here, but it’s only going to get better! That’s the positive.”
“There are a lot of patches needed. For starters, you’re missing two of the senses: taste and smell. In spite of that, ever since I walked past the Terra Technologies staff eating tater tots, I’ve been craving them at random intervals. I’m not hungry—I can’t consume food!”
“Predator instincts,” Virnt teased. “The Federation was right.”
“I’m serious! Why on Earth would that be a thing? I literally can’t satisfy it, so it’s almost cruel.”
“It’s psychological, Elias. I looked into it after I saw it in your transcript. When humans are under a lot of stress or otherwise feeling down, you seek dopamine from food. It’s something familiar that activated your memories, and promised emotional comfort. That’s why you have the phrase ‘comfort food.’”
“I can already see how the Federation remnants would spin that. A predator’s so-called emotions are tied to food, and stimulate appetite to fulfill their whims.”
“You seem in better spirits. To add to your improved mood, we announced the success of your memory transplant to the world. The response was overwhelmingly positive—history looked back fondly on you. You got a lot of well-wishes, and I was able to get almost all of your social media re-activated. At least, the platforms that are still active.”
“I’m…allowed to share my honest experiences?”
Virnt eased me out of the shuttle, into the sunlight; cameras were waiting, causing me to stiffen. “Of course you can. I’m not here to muzzle you, my friend. Quite the opposite, in fact: I want your experiment documented as thoroughly as possible! You’re the spokesperson for—”
I shielded my face from the reporters, who were lobbing questions. “What is this? I don’t have a prepared statement. This is an ambush.”
“Terra Technologies has a mission of transparency, and improving sapients’ quality of life through digital means. We had to announce such a monumental breakthrough, but you’re under no obligation to speak with them.”
“Good,” a warm voice chimed in from next to me, making me jump. “The poor guy’s come back from the dead, Virnt. Give him a break. He’s here to speak with the Duerten Forum and their ambassador, for some semblance of his old life.”
I turned my head, beaming as I recognized her. “Erin? Oh, sorry: that’s Secretary-General Kuemper, isn’t it? You’ve moved up in the world. The United Nations is in good hands.”
“It’s good to see you, Elias. I bawled my eyes out at your funeral. You cared so much for peace and taking the high road; there isn’t a person out there who could’ve handled first contact with more grace. You inspired me, and an entire generation of future diplomats.”
I embraced Erin, who’d once been a passionate SETI researcher giving me all of the bad news about aliens. As we flailed about in the dark to save humanity and adjust to the galaxy, finally acquiring a few friends, she’d become my Secretary of Alien Affairs. I’d trusted her to do whatever it took to stabilize our extraterrestrial relations. It was a bit of a relief to see a positive reaction from someone I knew; I wasn’t sure how my friends would take my return, but I hadn’t been expecting a welcome with open arms. It brought me solace and comfort to know about the legacy I’d left behind, and the ripple effects my tenure had on the United Nations.
It is strange to see how much she’s aged. That’ll be the reality of anyone that used to be an acquaintance of mine.
The alarm bells pinging in my head faded into the backdrop, and I forgot that the wind gusting against my face only felt like a dull push. My mind slipped away from food cravings that failed to get my mouth to water, how there was no feeling of tightness from my dress shoes, and the stillness of my non-existent diaphragm. I was simply happy to see someone I cared about and enjoyed working with, in my old life. There was safety in having a person I trusted to be on my side. My brain snapped back into diplomat mode, falling into a familiar flow of conversation. If I had nothing else, I still had my social skills—an ability to navigate various cultures.
“So the Duerten Forum agreed to meet with the two of us. They know about the Sivkit attack, but not the full threat,” I spoke aloud, after breaking away from the rather soul-affirming embrace. “I read the strategy meetings for briefing them, and I’m on-board to appeal to nostalgia; humanity saving their homeworld was after my time, but close enough to it that I could serve as a reminder. A blast from the past.”
Erin nodded, her security forming a wall between us and the cameras as we walked toward the embassy. “I always wondered what you’d think of modern Vienna, Elias. All of the aliens willing to be here on our world, and to treat us like people. Friendship used to seem like a pipe dream; we were happy if they’d allow us to exist, tolerate us to that extent. Look at us now.”
“I almost gave up hoping that they could care about us, or stand beside us at all. We couldn’t do it alone then. It’s time we remember to stand together—to rise to the occasion once more. I can’t bear the thought of anything threatening our home, or our friends. I saw enough needless death twenty-four years ago.”
“That pain is a lot more recent to you. It’s completely okay to be wrestling with grief. A billion of ours died.”
“We didn’t become the monsters they thought we were, and we pulled through. We revealed their hatred and treachery, and have chosen a future set on rectifying every right they trampled. I’ll always mourn what we lost, but I’ve never been more proud of humanity in my life.”
Kuemper patted my shoulder. “You sound like yourself, my dear old friend. It’s very good to have you back; you were much better at smiling while they spit in your face than I ever was. Let’s do what’s necessary to get the ball rolling with the Shield.”
“I’m right behind you.”
The exterior of the Duerten embassy had a distinct construction style, with metal and concrete forming the bulk of the outside structure; on Kalqua, sturdiness was at the foremost of their priorities. Winds on a normal day could ratchet up to what we’d consider a tropical storm, according to my brief review of their culture. The door was evidently heightened to facilitate foot traffic from humans, despite the exit hatches on the upper floor which seemed frequented by the avian staff. Their personnel could literally fly away during an emergent situation. I tailed Kuemper into the lobby, and noted how much of the inside’s floor was concrete as well. It was resilient and easy to clean, a perfect surface to avoid being marred by talons.
Most of the gray avians used perches instead of chairs, with several staffers working on paperwork at their desks; in private areas, some met with any humans who had business with the Duerten Forum. The lack of reaction to a predator’s approach was new to me, but a welcome change. Kuemper confidently led the way to an elevator, which had the English and German words for “Welcome to the Duerten embassy!” written above the opening. The generic Shield logo was painted on both sides of the door, and emblazoned with a representation of Kalqua. There were no buttons inside, apart from an emergency exit; a camera surveyed us, before a watching staffer summoned the car upward. I felt a jolt as we reached the top floor.
“To be visited by two Secretary-Generals: one of whom is a ghost! Let me express the Duerten Forum’s honor and delight. Not, of course, that I don’t cherish Ambassador Hannah Marston’s visits.” A silver-feathered head poked out of a door at the end of the hallway, past a spacious lounge; his beak was the precise yellow of corn. “Please, come in. Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Kuemper shuffled forward, giving me a knowing look. “Water would be lovely for me. Thank you for the warm welcome, Ambassador Korajan.”
“I second that gratitude. Enchanted to meet you. I’m sure you know, but I’m Elias Meier.” Taking a gamble that the ambassador was more than acquainted with our customs, I extended a hand. Korajan strode forward with confidence, ensnaring my palm in his wingtip. “We appreciate you taking the time to sit with us, Ambassador.”
“Just Korajan,” the avian said, feeling my artificial hand with undeniable curiosity. He finally released my grip, and waited for us to get seated. “There’s no need for formalities, especially when I’m in such esteemed company. What can I do for you?”
“We’ve come to seek your assistance in the fight against the Sivkits’ assailants. The Sapient Coalition needs allies to back us against these menaces,” Kuemper stated. “Any help we can get would make a difference.”
“I see. I heard about your unfortunate defeat in your prior engagement, but I don’t see how it involves or concerns us. The Duerten, as you well know, aren’t in the position we used to be. We’ve turned our focus inward for years, shoring up our defenses to watch out for our beloved planet. The potential benefit it might offer you is so negligible that it’s hardly worth increasing our vulnerability. The risk far outweighs the rewards for any party.”
I studied the avian, careful to avoid a direct stare. “I understand that it’s a lot to ask. However, small bits of help from across the Shield can accumulate to be a massive difference maker. We want to stop this genocidal force from getting anywhere near Kalqua; if we play our cards right, you won’t need defenses.”
“Elias—sorry, may I call you Elias?” Korajan asked, continuing after I nodded. “We’re, of course, concerned to have a predatory species with such power and intentions, outside our known terrain. They bear a striking resemblance to the Arxur, and my government does appreciate the advance warning from the SC so we can make preparations. Yet the Forum is concerned by several of your recent initiatives, which would make us doubly unwilling to back your cause.”
“Go on. What initiatives have unsettled you?” I hope he doesn’t mean me, with resurrecting dead humans; that’d hit close to home, and I don’t know how to defend it. “Perhaps we can clear up our rationale and intentions, ensuring that there are no misunderstandings.”
“I hope I’m not impolite to point it out, but my government is beginning to see a pattern in your recent connections to carnivores. The Sapient Coalition is attempting an uplift on one race, despite what we all know happened on Wriss, and has brought them into your mix while they are at war with each other. We’re also aware of these Osirs—a race you are resurrecting to live among you, despite having no idea what they’re capable of. Present company excluded, species that need meat are not trustworthy types. These Osirs are weapons: look at the fangs.”
“Anything is a weapon in the wrong hands. Respectfully, we don’t feel that it’s right to judge a species for their diet. If I’m not mistaken, your own kind were once omnivores, Korajan.”
The Duerten fluttered his wings in acknowledgement. “The Federation changed us greatly—some things for the better, others to erase our intellect. We’re an individualist species, and they tried to make us…what do you humans call it? A ‘hive mind.’ Hive minds, of course, are fiction, yet they tried to make it real. Still, sometimes when you’re changed enough, it makes it impossible to go back to how things were.”
“I of all people grasp that sentiment,” I sighed, without moving an abdominal muscle, reflecting how my life would never be the same in this state. “We believe all sapients deserve a chance at life and happiness. Equality isn’t a principle we withhold based on any factor, and we don’t change species to fit our own whims.”
“This is why we’re content with our relations as is: separate, so we’re not connected to your disputes or obligated to get involved. The Duerten will always have differences between what are considered acceptable behaviors, and our guiding principles and overarching goals.”
Kuemper tapped her fingers on her knee. “Regardless, our choices with the Bissems and Osirs will have no impact or tangible effects on the Duerten. Nor is it a reason to shy away from protecting herbivores, the mandate that led you to stand up to the Federation in the past.”
“That cost us everything. Kalqua took a beating worse than Earth did. We don’t set out to attract the ire of powerful enemies these days.”
“We saved Kalqua. We were there when you needed our help to keep your innocents safe,” I reminded him, knitting my eyebrows with earnestness. “We answer when others call for our help to stay alive; the Duerten know what drives us to answer the bell. Isn’t that worth a smidge of reciprocation?”
“If Earth, or for that matter, Leirn were under siege, we would come. However, it appears to us that you entered their territory, not the other way around.”
“Think of the type of species…no, the kind of governments that would glass worlds. The old-school Arxur Dominion. The Kolshian shadow caste when they were defied. The Krakotl extermination fleet because they hated us. That’s what we see in the Osirs, and the gluttonous killing of Sivkit civilians while refusing to speak. We can’t turn a blind eye.”
“I’m sorry, Elias. Even if I wanted to help you, I don’t have the authority. I’m expressing my government’s position, and I’ve been told the Duerten Forum isn't going to war under any circumstances. I apologize that I can’t be of more use, and regret if you might feel your time has been squandered, leaving empty-handed.”
I shared a look with Kuemper, recognizing that we had been stonewalled; there was an implication in Korajan’s last statement that the discussion on this matter was over. The Forum hadn’t given him any negotiating room, so I didn’t get the sense I could do better than asking for him to take a message. If this was the most friendly party we’d be interacting with, I wasn’t off to a good start wrangling support for an alliance. There were a few other Shield races we could try, but an endorsement from the founders might’ve gotten the whole union on board. We had to find another angle—negotiating with the Fed remnants would be impossible without the Shield as an intermediary.
“Of course we don’t feel that way. The back-and-forth was enlightening, productive communication, as much as humanity would love to stand side-by-side in this endeavor,” I offered. “We appreciate you hearing us out, and do hope you’ll pass along our rationale to the Forum, for clarity.”
“I will,” the Duerten responded. “Your words, as always, deserve to be heard and treated with respect.”
Kuemper followed my lead, rising as I stood. “Korajan, I want you to know I deeply appreciate what you said about coming to Earth’s aid should we ever fall on hard times. That stood out to me, as a reason why our cooperation is so precious and beautiful.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. I do wish you the best of luck in your future engagements; my people hope you emerge victorious.”
“Thank you. Our door will always be open if you have a change of heart.”
In my mind, I had already vacated the Duerten embassy, but it was necessary to retrace my steps to depart the ambassador’s office. Aliens were much more diplomatic in rebuffing us now than in my era, which was the proper way to express disagreements between nations. It wasn’t lost on me that the differences in “behaviors” and “principles” Korajan meant were things such as hunting, omnivory, accepting carnivores, exterminators, and predator disease facilities. The Forum still clung to much of their old lifestyle; the gray avian had stated that some Federation changes were “for the better.” That was telling about how much of their ideology they’d yet to shed.
“Forgive my impertinence, but before you go, Elias…may I ask a personal inquiry? It’s not on my behalf of my government,” Korajan called, as our shoes cleared the threshold of his office.
I turned around, giving him an encouraging smile. “Of course. Go ahead.”
“What…what was it like? To die…to be dead?”
“It wasn’t like anything. It was a singularity of all outcomes: all I ever was, and all I ever could be, condensed to nothing. There are no words to describe emptiness and infinite rest. It’s a peace that knows no equal.”
The Duerten dipped his head. “Thank you. It gives me some…personal solace, to know…to know my daughter is resting peacefully. She died in so much pain after only a short period of remission. Ahem…if you’ll excuse me, I…”
“We’ll leave you in peace,” Kuemper replied, softness in her voice.
I folded my hands behind my back, mulling over the choked-up ambassador’s words. How could I let a few days of mental suffering defeat me, when kids suffered through such terrible diseases—never getting to reach adulthood? This program could give children like Korajan’s daughter a chance to grow up, and be a kid, free from pain. As soon as I was alone, I knew I’d be cast back into a maddening state of consciousness, with my brain struggling to stay tethered to this reality. Where I’d been ready to give up before Virnt’s quick fix, the avian’s story made me want to remain in the fight.
The Tilfish had been right: there was the potential for the technology that had brought me back to do a lot of good, and save others a great deal of heartbreak and suffering. No personal sacrifice was too great to ensure that one day, no parent would ever have to bury their child.
First Prev
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore

Out from another passageway stepped an elderly Stone Giant, blocking our way. I almost reflexively attacked, but was able to stop myself when I saw that her hands were open and raised, palms up, to show that she was unarmed.
“I don’t have much time,” she whispered, in Taldane, “but know that if you are here to slay Mokmurian, I am your ally. Come with me to a place we can speak in peace, for I would aid you in your quarrel here—without my assistance you might find only your graves below Jorgenfist.”
Everyone turned to Domoki, who nodded, and we followed the Stone Giant down a side tunnel. As we moved down the tunnel, the raucous sound of Stone Giant laugher echoed through the hall. A large open cavern to our left appeared to be in use as a mess hall. A dozen young male Stone Giants sat at tables pounding back mugs of ale, telling jokes, and arm wrestling. As our guide approached this room, her gait changed from a confident stride to a slow, plodding shuffle. She hunched over her walking stick and pretended to lean on it.
“Go, go, go,” she whispered, as she blocked the doorway. The young giants paid no attention to their elder as she slowly shuffled past. We quickly snuck past the doorway, using her as cover to avoid being seen. When we had passed the doorway, she resumed her normal walking pace.
“I see that you encourage your people to underestimate you,” I whispered. “That is wise.”
She smiled a half smile and walked on and soon we came to a small empty cave. Inside this cave was a small shrine. The walls of the cave were painted with murals. Giants were shown hunting mammoths, elk, deer, and wyverns. Other scenes depicted battles between races: Humans, Ogres, and Dwarves being crushed underfoot by Giants of exaggerated size. Antlers, hooves, and furs were piled up before an altar. The giant sat down on the ground and invited us to do the same.
“Here we can talk in peace,” she said. “I am Conna the Wise.”
Just as she spoke, something moved in the corner of my eye. It seemed, for a second, that one of the paintings on the wall was moving. I turned my head to get a closer look, and it stopped just as abruptly, but I was quite certain that the giant painted on the wall had thrown a spear.
Conna laughed.
“That is just my husband,” she said. “His ghost haunts this shrine, and he likes to play with the paintings. As a result, the other giants give this place a wide berth. That is how I know we will not be disturbed here. So… Why have you come?”
“As you suspected, we have come to assassinate Mokmurian,” I said.
“Excellent,” she said. “While I cannot openly oppose him, I can assure you that I and the rest of the elders will be happy to see him deposed. He has led our people into a senseless war, and though we do not cower from battle, none of us sees what is to be gained from this conflict.”
“So do we have your word, then, that if we depose Mokmurian for you, you will disperse the army above us, and abandon plans to march on Sandpoint?”
“I will not be in charge,” she admitted. “But I know the chain of command quite well, and I can tell you who to kill and who to leave in place in order to give our tribe the best chance of a peaceful future.”
“Very well then,” I said, “go on.”
Conna pulled an empty scroll out of her belt and unrolled it on the surface of the altar. On it, she sketched the layout of the caves.
“Can any of you fly?” she asked.
“That’s how we got here,” I answered.
“Good. In that case, you can avoid the Northwest passages entirely, which will greatly increase your chances of survival. I suggest you go across the pit. On the other side of the pit,” she said, pointing to a small cave on the map, “you will find Galenmir, Mokmurian’s second in command. Kill him if you like, or not, it doesn’t bother me either way. He will follow whoever ends up in charge, and won’t try to become chief himself. In any case, you have to get past him.
“Turn left down this corridor,” she continued, tracing her finger along the map, “you’ll have to deal with some Kobolds or something like that – they’re not really with us, do as you like with them. There will be half a dozen stone giants in each of these rooms,” she indicated a couple of side caves off of the main corridor, “and if you could get past those without killing them, I would be grateful. They have no influence within the tribe, they’re just grunts.
“Then continue through here, past the entrance to the Northwest passages, and try not to be seen. The residents of the Northwest passages will need to be killed eventually, they side with Mokmurian, but if you try to kill them before you get to him, they might alert him to the danger. Once you’re past that, you’ll head down this passage to the library level. At that point you will probably have to kill everything in your path. There is only one way in from there on, and it’s well guarded.”
Conna got to the end of her set of directions and rolled up the map, handing it to Asclepius who had been eyeing it the most intently.
“Good luck.”
“Thank you for your help,” I said. “We will be on our way now.”
◊◊◊
Conna led us back out towards the pit, replicating her ‘old, frail woman’ trick to get us past the mess hall again, then left us.
We reached the end of the tunnel, Asclepius turned herself invisible, and we flew out over the pit. Everyone drew their weapons, and we rushed the entrance to Galenmir’s cave and attacked. Galenmir fought back, but he was not winning. As soon as his resolve began to flag, I flew up over Tenebis’ shoulder and addressed him.
“Galenmir!” I cried out in a loud, unflinching voice, as my right arm traced through the motions of a fear spell behind Tenebis’ back. “We are Mokmurian’s death! Flee or die!” My probe of fear pushed its way into Galenmir’s mind, and he dropped his heavy pick on the ground and pulled out a potion. I was not sure what the potion was, but it seemed to me he had switched his focus from defending his post to preserving his life. The others attacked anyway, and Galenmir was dead within seconds. My eyes locked onto Domoki as I saw him loose arrow after arrow with no sign of emotion on his face. He had called me a murderer.
“Gentlemen,” I said, when the fight was over, making no effort to disguise my disappointment, “that was not necessary.”
I flew over to Galenmir’s corpse and picked the potion of his still warm hand to inspect it.
“It’s a potion of gaseous form,” I pointed out. “He was trying to escape.”
“If we’d let him get away, he would have come after us with reinforcements,” said Tenebis. “We couldn’t allow him to raise the alarm.”
I shook my head and moved on in silence.
The kobolds in the next hallway did not want to let us pass. They fought to the death and I felt no guilt for killing them. Down the hallway, Tenebis poked his head around the corner and whispered back at us.
“Four Stone Giants – first one, 35 feet in, 5 feet across…”
Domoki lined up his trick shot.
“You’re not even going to try to sneak past them,” I whispered, in disbelief.
Domoki started the fight with an arrow bounced off the wall and into the room. The commotion from fighting the giants in the first room lured out the giants in the second and we ended fighting all 11 of them at once. They fought to the death. In the second room, we found a cage full of captive dwarves. Their beards had been shaved, and I knew that for a dwarf, this was the ultimate act of humiliation. I unlocked the cage with a key lifted from the corpse of a stone giant (there was no sense in wasting my magic unnecessarily). Asclepius turned herself visible and joined the dwarves in the cage to tend to their injuries. The dwarves kept their noses down and stared at the ground, and I saw that their spirits had been thoroughly broken.
“Hey there, men!” I said, quietly, but in an urgent tone, trying to get their attention.
“We can help you escape! Are you interested?”
At this, one dwarf finally looked up at me.
“There is no escape,” he said, despairingly, “there are too many of them. They’ve got all the exits covered.”
“How do you think we got in?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said. That clearly had not occurred to him until now. “Grendal, how do you think these folks got in here?”
“Maybe they teleported in,” said Grendal.
“No, no, no, if they could teleport, why would they have appeared in the hallway? They would’ve just appeared in the room,” said another.
“Maybe they’re stonewalkers and they walked through the walls to get here,” said a fourth.
The debate on how we had gotten in seemed to bring a little of their spirit back as they argued back and forth. Finally, they were quiet.
“How did you get in?” asked the one who had spoken first.
“Through the tunnels.”
“No, that’s not possible,” said another dwarf, “those tunnels are heavily guarded. They’ve got Dragons and kobolds and giants all blocking it up.”
“We killed them all,” I said.
The dwarves erupted in another round of arguing over whether or not that was possible. When they were finished, they looked up again.
“So you’ve cleared a way out then? You’ll take us to freedom?” said a dwarf.
“We’d be happy to,” I answered. “But we have to assassinate someone first.”
Their eyes grew wide, but this time, no one challenged my words.
“We’ll come back for you. I’m leaving your cage unlocked. If we’re not back within a few hours, we’ve most likely been killed, and you should probably try to escape on your own.”
The dwarves nodded, dumbfounded, and Asclepius finished her work, and the seven of us moved on towards our target.
“What were you thinking?” I whispered to Domoki once we were back in the hallway. “We were supposed to sneak past those rooms, not kill everyone inside!”
“Look on the bright side,” said Domoki, “if we hadn’t killed the Stone Giants, we couldn’t have freed the dwarves.”
“Well, ok,” I admitted, “that is a valid point, but you didn’t even know the dwarves were there when you started shooting. You just wanted to show off your trick shot!”
“No,” protested Domoki, “that’s not it! I…”
His voice trailed off, and he never finished his sentence.
“We should be coming up on the Northwest tunnels now,” I whispered, a little louder so everyone could hear, “and we are going to follow Conna’s advice and sneak past them. Remember, she said if we attacked the residents of the Northwest tunnels, they could alert Mokmurian to our presence. We can’t risk that.”
We successfully snuck past the entrance to the Northwest tunnels, and soon enough, the tunnel we were in began to slope downwards. The natural tunnels we had been moving through gave way to worked stone. We were heading in to the library level. Conna had advised us to murder anything in our path once we reached the library level, and I had a suspicion none of our party would have a problem with following that advice.
In the middle of the next room, an immense iron cauldron stood over a bonfire. Something foul was bubbling inside, and a column of thick, black smoke rose from the cauldron as a warning. Scattered bones, hair, and other less desirable body parts littered the floor around the cauldron, some of them clearly human. Behind the cauldron, a large, ugly giant stood, stirring the foul brew in the pot.
“Oh do come in,” said the giant, its voice dripping in sarcasm. “Table for… seven? Our specials today are death and dismemberment.”
“Ooh, tough choice. Have you got anything else?” I asked, after flying out from behind Tenebis’ shoulder.
“Well, not normally,” responded the giant, “but for you, I can make a special offer of incineration!”
“Oh, lovely, I’ll take that,” I said. “But I’m afraid it won’t be my incineration. It will be yours.”
When the sassy giant was thoroughly sliced up, poked through, and burnt to a crisp, we paused to inspect the room. Edyan sniffed the air.
“Smells like necromancy,” he said.
I paused to do the same.
“You’re right. What do you suppose it does, exactly?” I asked, indicating the cauldron. Edyan approached it and walked all the way around.
“I don’t know, off the top of my head,” he admitted. “But I’ve a feeling it has something to do with our deceased friend back there.”
“Well, we are going to a library,” said Domoki, “perhaps we will find out more about it there.”
I took this as our cue to move on.
In the next room, a half a dozen zombie giants had been trying to hide in some suits of armor on display, but as soon as they moved, fireballs were tossed their way by myself and Edyan, and all but one of them died. The remaining zombie giant, tougher than the others, and headless, fought for another minute or so, and then died unspectacularly. We pressed onwards.
At the end of a long hallway, we found a number of doors: three stone doors, and a pair of heavy brass ones.
“I know you’re very excited to get through those brass doors,” I said to Edyan, “but I think we should crack the stone doors first.”
“Indeed,” said Edyan, “it would hardly do to be attacked while I was trying to peruse the library.”
Behind the first stone door was only rubble, for that passage had collapsed long ago. Behind the second stone door were half a dozen Hounds of Tindalos, otherworldly dogs with huge, soulless eyes and far too many teeth. It took some time to slay the hounds, for they started out invisible, and we could not see them until after they had attacked. Behind the third stone door we found Mokmurian. I had, for some reason, not been expecting to encounter him until we reached the library proper, so when I opened this door and found myself face to face with the target of our assassination attempt, I threw myself into a harried frenzy trying to cast spell resistance on our front-liners before he could affect them. Mokmurian filled the room with a thick, solid fog that slowed movement and completely obscured sight. Tenebis and Steranis pressed in and began beating on the stone giant general, while Edyan and I struggled to counter his magic. It seemed that Mokmurian had stored spells in his club, for as it came down upon my allies I saw their faces screwing up not only with pain, but with the effort of resisting magical effects. Mokmurian tried to turn Steranis into stone, and Tenebis into a lizard. With the help of the spell resistance I had imbued them with, both doggedly refused to yield to the magic. As Steranis and Tenebis continued to beat him down, Mokmurian became more desperate. His blows were coming faster now, and he lashed out in anger at me, for I was responsible for his failed spells. Unfortunately for him, he had not done his research. He targeted me with fire, which I laughed off. My mastery over fire had increased, and it did not hurt me any longer. This threw him into an even greater rage, and he dealt a great deal of damage to Tenebis in the last few seconds before Tenebis finally lopped off his head.
I landed on the ground next to the fallen stone giant and picked up his head, which was still dripping with blood. I grabbed it by the hair with both hands before hoisting it up and staring it in the eyes.
Suddenly the dead eyes staring back at me were filled with an eerie green light. His mouth opened in a strange, mechanical way, as if his head were a marionette. The head spoke in a strange, almost human sounding accent that seemed out of place coming from the giant’s mouth.
“So these are the heroes of the age. More like gasping worms to me, soon to be crushed back into the earth when I awaken the armies of Xin-Shalast, when the name Karzoug is again spoken with fear and awe. Know that the deaths of those marked by the Sihedron—the giants you have so conveniently slain for me—hasten my return, just as yours soon will. Fools, all of you! Is this all you could manage in ten thousand years?”
The head began to laugh, and great, noisy, raucous laugh.
“You ain’t seen half of it yet,” I shot back, but by then the green glow in the eyes had already faded, and I’m not sure if he heard me or not. The head moved no more.
◊◊◊
With Mokmurian killed and his study looted, we moved on to the great library. Standing in front of the tall brass double doors, Edyan pulled out the scroll with the passphrase and spoke it, slowly, carefully, quietly, like a prayer. The doors swung silently open on their hinges to reveal the library. The tall, cylindrical room extended upwards nearly to the surface, I thought, its walls lined with bookshelves all the way to the ceiling. It was quite a bit smaller than the university library in Magnimar, but much older, and it promised to hold innumerable secrets about Old Thassilon, the Runelords, and whatever the hell was happening now.
As Edyan took his first steps into his own personal paradise, a strange mechanical creature made of brass lurched into view with a clatter.
“Which volume of lore would you like me to retrieve for you?” It asked in a monotone voice, in Thassilonian, “There are currently 24,491 volumes, scrolls, pamphlets, and unbound manuscripts available. Please indicate which one you wish by author, title, subject, or date of acquisition by the Therassic Monastery.”
Edyan looked over the construct with curiosity, then addressed it in Thassilonian, in kind.
“Subject: Runelord Karzoug.”
The creature turned and clattered away toward the stacks and a wide grin spread across Edyan’s face.
◊◊◊
“So while Edyan’s holed up in his paradise, do the rest of you want to come with me to report back to Conna?” I asked.
We left Edyan with his nose buried in a book, closed the doors behind us, and headed back towards where we had last seen Conna. I carried Mokmurian’s head in front of me. Everyone except for us in the library level was dead, but as we passed through the room with the giant cauldron, we saw that the foul liquid inside was still bubbling. I tried a few mundane ways of putting out the flames under it, and then a few magical ones, but the fire burned on and the cauldron kept bubbling.
“That’s not good,” I pointed out, “we need to figure out what this thing does and how to shut it down. It smells of necromancy and that concerns me.”
I took note to look in the library for anything about it, and we moved on out of the library level. Back in the natural tunnels, we decided to take the Northwest Tunnels that Conna had warned us about. I flew in front with Mokmurian’s head, and I figured if anyone had a problem with us deposing him, they would make that very clear. The first to attack us were a pair of lamias and a pair of small red Dragons. These kept us busy for some time, but eventually we fought our way through and ended back at Conna’s cave. I flew in and landed in front of her, presenting Mokmurian’s head.
“Will you be needing this?” I asked.
Conna looked rather disgusted, but she took the head from me the nonetheless.
“Sadly, that might be necessary. Thank you,” she said.
“We killed Galenmir, Mokmurian, and everyone else on the library level. We also killed the lamias and the Dragons in the northwest passages. Do we need to kill anyone else?” I asked. I purposefully did not mention the dozen or so stone giants that we killed to free the dwarves, for I did not think that she would take kindly to that.
Conna looked stunned for a moment, presumably at the magnitude of the trail of destruction we had left in our wake. After a moment, she answered, “Yes, actually. There is one more that must be taken care of, if you are up for it. Mokmurian’s… experiment. Up this hall and turn right.”
We followed Conna’s directions and came to a set of large stone double doors. The seven pointed star was carved deep into the face of the doors. Tenebis pushed the heavy doors open, and they creaked loudly on their hinges, announcing our presence to the creature within.
Strangely, the room appeared empty. The walls and ceiling of the room were of finely worked stone, but the floor was packed earth, which seemed strange. Seven large tree trunks had been driven into the soil like stakes, and each bore a large iron brazier at its top. Branding irons hung on chains from the stakes, and in the middle of the star formed by the tree trunks, the ground began to move.
Up from the ground rose an immense hill giant, seemingly half melded with the earth below him. Strange blue crystal growths patterned his skin, forming a crude resemblance to Thassilonian runes. The giant strode forward.
“Mokmurian is dead!” I declared in a loud voice, giving the giant a chance to break off its attack. “Cower before your new masters!”
As I spoke, I went through the motions of a fear spell with my left arm and reached out to seize the giant’s mind. I found nothing, as my spell bounced off a hard shell and fizzled out.
Killing the giant took some time, as every time it was close to death, it would meld back into the Earth for a minute, somehow heal itself, and then appear behind us in a different part of the room. It was finally Steranis who used his Druid magic to transmute the packed Earth of the floor to solid stone when the Giant was halfway out, trapping him there and allowing the rest of us to finish him off. When the giant had fallen, I heard Domoki calling my name from the back of the room.
“Urhador, we need to talk,” he said.
Confused, I flew over and landed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“ ‘Cower before your new masters’?” he asked, quoting me. “What was that about?”
“You have a problem with my fear tactics?” I asked. “I hardly think you’re in a position to be taking issue with that. You’re the one that starts fights like a coward by shooting around corners.”
Domoki ignored the insult and pressed on.
“Is that all it was?” he asked. “A fear tactic?”
“Yes,” I answered, confused as to what else it could have been.
“Good,” said Domoki. “It sounded for a minute like you intended to keep that monstrosity as a slave.”
“Domoki, I have no interest in owning slaves,” I reassured him.
“Good,” said Domoki again.
“And I don’t really see why you think you have the right to judge my battle tactics anyways,” I found myself continuing, “You’re the one who wanted to kill an entire tribe of Ogres. You’re the one that kept shooting Galenmir after he dropped his weapon. You’re the one that started a fight we didn’t have to fight by shooting around a corner at opponents who might have surrendered or not even noticed us. So I think you should quit trying to claim the moral high ground here and admit that you’re projecting your own guilt onto me because you don’t want to own it. We’re all monsters, Domoki. Every single one of us. Get over it.”
I had lost control of my volume during that last little monologue, and the rest of the team was staring at me. I turned my back to them and flew back towards the library.
◊◊◊
I returned to the library the way we’d first come, picking up the Dwarven prisoners on the way. Every dead giant I passed, I cremated. I did not want their bodies lying around to be fed into the necromantic cauldron.
Now that we had cleared the library level of threats, I figured we could hide in the library while Edyan scoured it for information, then teleport out when we were finished. Since the library door seemed to be magically protected, and I doubted any of the stone giants still alive knew the password, we ought to be safe there.
Edyan had settled in at a study desk with a large pile of tomes. His eyes briefly left the open tome before him to register my presence, then returned to the book without a word. The dwarves filed in quietly and settled in at a table near the other side of the room. I picked out a book on magic and found a spot to make myself at home. Ten minutes later, the rest of the party entered as well, and they too settled in in silence. When Edyan closed his book and reached for another one, I decided to take the opportunity to ask him a question.
“Edyan, you know that giant cauldron down the hallway? The one that smells of necromancy?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Edyan.
“Do you have any idea what it does?” I asked.
“Not yet,” said Edyan. “Looking into it. I’ll keep you posted.”
I returned to my book.
Several hours later, halfway through his stack of books, Edyan spoke again.
“Urhador, I seem to have an answer to your question,” he started.
“Oh?” I asked.
“It’s bad,” he continued.
“How bad?” I asked.
“ ‘Army of undead giants’ bad.”
“That’s bad,” I agreed. The army of live giants that we were currently facing was bad enough, and they had free will, and presumably something resembling a conscience. Undead, as I had learned, were under the complete control of whoever had raised them. An army of them would entail a mindless force perfectly obedient to whatever vile individual next found the cauldron and figured out how to use it. On top of that, undead tended to be more difficult to kill than the living.
“Can it be destroyed?” I asked.
“Yes…” said Edyan, hesitating to finish his sentence.
“How?” I pressed.
“A giant has to willingly sacrifice himself in the cauldron to destroy it…”
“What if we just collapsed this whole area around it? I’m not sure if the other giants know it’s there, but if they don’t, they wouldn’t likely bother to try to excavate it.”
“I considered that thought,” admitted Edyan, “but artifacts of this power level have a tendency to make themselves known to those who would use them. If we don’t destroy it, then whether it takes a hundred years or a thousand, someone will eventually find it and activate it.”
“…and that would spell the end of Varisia,” I finished for him.
“At the very least,” he agreed.
“Then I suppose I know what I have to do,” I admitted, reluctantly. “You don’t know of a way of turning me into a giant, do you?”
“I do not,” he said.
“Then I shall go speak with Steranis.”
I got up from my chair and walked over to where Steranis was sitting quietly in his half-elf form.
“Steranis,” I said. “Do you know of a way of turning me into a giant?”
“No,” said Steranis, “I can only do that to myself. There are other ways that could be used to make you look like a giant, but they wouldn’t count for your purposes.”
“You were listening to Edyan and me speaking,” I observed.
“I have a very good sense of hearing,” said Steranis.
“Very well,” I said. “If I cannot turn myself into a giant, I suppose I am off to find a volunteer.”
Steranis did not volunteer, and I wasn’t about to press him on it, so I returned to Edyan to ask one more question.
“What exactly is meant by ‘willingly’?” I asked.
“Pardon?” asked Edyan.
“You said a giant must willingly sacrifice himself in the cauldron. What exactly is meant by ‘willingly’?” I repeated.
“As in, he has to know what he’s doing,” answered Edyan, as he realized what I planned to do. “He can’t be under threats or magical compulsion. Coercion is… iffy.” “Can I see that book?” I asked.
Edyan sighed and handed over the book and moved on to another one. I read the section over a few times and considered my options. Convincing a giant to sacrifice his life was something I was fairly confident I could do, with enough time and a combination of natural charm and the judicious use of the magic of suggestion, but I struggled over the ethics of it. It was certainly an evil act that would tarnish my soul, but I was quite certain the alternative was worse. I could not allow my homeland to be trampled by an army of undead. On top of that, there were the souls of the potential undead to consider. Asclepius had explained to me once that raising the dead through necromancy prevented their souls from moving on into the afterlife. Their souls were trapped in their bodies until they were killed again for good. For this reason, killing undead was an act of mercy. I figured if I could prevent them from being created in the first place, all the better.
◊◊◊
That night I sat up for a long time, a glowing orb placed above my shoulder, reading over our contract with the devil again and again. I was no longer searching for a loophole, but instead just appreciating the irony of that fact that I held a signed contract with the devil in my hands, and was still concerned about the state of my soul. Letting Avaxial go hadn’t felt evil, even if objectively it must have been. Playing suicidal mind games with a giant, even if I believed it to be for the greater good, most definitely did feel evil. After a night of fitful sleep, I set off to find my victim. I woke early, before the others, to find myself my own normal size again. I made sure Domoki was still asleep, then turned myself invisible and snuck out through the library doors. As much as I was currently mad at Domoki for his moral double standard, I did not want him to know what I was about to do.
I quietly crept out of the library and back the way we’d come. We had passed a mess hall around there, and that seemed as good a place as any to begin my search. As luck would have it, it was a very quick search. When I arrived at the mess hall, a single giant sat alone at a table, contemplating a tall mug of ale. He looked lonely, and rather young, just passing from adolescence into adulthood. He reminded me a little of myself at that age, and it did not escape my notice that now I was the bully that I had feared in my youth.
Without revealing my presence, I felt for my magic and reached out for his consciousness, brushing it with a calming presence. Not enough to influence his thoughts much at all, I hoped, just enough to keep him from immediately attacking me when I showed myself. Then I appeared before him at the entrance to the mess hall, far enough away that I wouldn’t startle him or seem threatening. He looked up and noticed me.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Urhador,” I said.
“Are you one of the ones who came to kill the chief?”
“I am,” I admitted.
“Good,” he said. “Mokmurian was a terrible chief. I am Gorsch.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gorsch.”
“Why are you still here?” asked Gorsch.
“Our work here is not yet done,” I said. “Tell me more about Mokmurian. Why was he a terrible chief?”
Gorsch regarded me suspiciously for a moment, deciding whether to answer my question or not.
“The other chiefs always led with inspiring speeches and force of personality. We followed them because we loved them. Mokmurian wasn’t like the other chiefs. He locked himself away in that basement doing who knows what, and word came out that we were at war. Mokmurian sent his closest generals to gather the other tribes, but no one told us what the war was about.
“Well, perhaps I can help you with that,” I answered. I looked around to check that no one was coming. “After we killed Mokmurian, his eyes glowed blue and his disembodied head started speaking to us. Mokmurian was possessed in some way, or at least under the influence of a more powerful being. That being is called Karzoug, and he was once one of the most powerful magi in the world. He hasn’t been heard from in thousands of years, but it appears now that he is returning.”
Gorsch stared at me, judging whether or not to believe my fantastical tale.
“And why does Karzoug want war?” asked the young giant.
“Because he is the Runelord of Greed. And war breeds profit.”
Gorsch nodded and thought over this for a short time.
“What will happen now?” he asked.
“That is up to you, not us,” I said. “We will interfere no further in the running of your tribe. I believe your elder Conna may have had some ideas.”
“Conna is mad,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if this was common knowledge.
“Or perhaps she only wanted you to think that,” I pointed out. “I spoke to her yesterday and she seemed to me to still have all her wits about her.”
Gorsch narrowed his eyes.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said, not yet believing me, but seemingly willing to put in the effort to find out for himself.
Gorsch was naturally very suspicious of me, as well he should be. But I had done what I needed to do on our first meeting – given him some information that he could verify himself. There was no point in telling him anything more until he had had a chance to do that.
“I must go now,” I said. “My companions will be waking soon and I do not want them to know that I was gone.”
Gorsch shrugged and took a swig of his ale. I turned and walked a few paces before turning myself invisible again and making my way back to the library.
Steranis was awake when I returned. I figured showing myself was a better option than letting him think an invisible foe was lose in the library, so as soon as I opened the door and saw him up, I shed my invisibility.
“Were you out doing what I think you were doing?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “You needn’t tell the others, if you don’t mind.”
Steranis didn’t answer, so I figured I’d just have to hope for the best.
◊◊◊
I repeated my stunt the next morning. When I arrived at the mess hall, Gorsch was there again, in the exact same spot as he had been the previous day. I lowered my invisibility as I approached.
“Good morning, again,” I said.
“Hello Urhador,” he replied.
“Mind if I take a seat today?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
I climbed up onto a stool opposite him (which took some doing, since they were sized for giants).
“Have you been here the whole time, or do you occasionally leave this mess hall?”
“I went and talked to Conna.”
“Ah. And what did you learn?”
“You were correct. She is not mad.”
“It’s nice to have some independent corroboration.”
“What’s down there, in Mokmurian’s secret basement?” asked Gorsch.
“You’ve never been there yourself?” I asked, in turn.
“No. Only his inner circle was allowed down there. The amount of secrecy around it has made me curious.”
“There’s a library, left over from ancient times… and a creepy necromantic cauldron.”
“A what?”
“Do you want to go see?” I asked.
“It’s not allowed…” started Gorsch, then caught himself. “I’d like that.”
I jumped down from the stool and set off back toward the ancient structure, Gorsch following two steps behind. Being eleven feet tall, his gait was considerably longer than mine, and he would naturally have walked much faster than me. But Gorsch must have been rather nervous, for he was walking very slowly toward the forbidden area, and I didn’t think it was in deference to me.
In time, we came to the necromantic cauldron. The unnatural fire still burned under it, and the cauldron bubbled, filling the air with the pungent stink of undeath. “What is that?” asked Gorsch.
“I told you, it’s a necromantic cauldron. You put dead giants in, you get undead giants out.”
“Well that’s all sorts of fucked up,” said Gorsch. “Was Mokmurian planning to use it?” “He already had,” I informed him. “We had to kill an undead giant on the way in.” Gorsch looked saddened by this news.
“Where did you put his body?” he asked.
“We burned it,” I said. “It seemed the best way to keep him from being raised again.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Was it someone you knew?”
“I think so,” said Gorsch. “A friend of mine, Kusich, died about a week ago, and Mokmurian took his body down to his study. I shouldn’t have let him do that. I didn’t know what he planned to do with it, but I knew it couldn’t have been anything good. I should have stopped him. I should have protected Kusich.”
I wanted to comfort Gorsch and assure him that it was not his fault, but I stopped myself. I reminded myself that if my plan was to get Gorsch to sacrifice himself to destroy the cauldron, I should work with every bit of guilt I could find in him. I let Gorsch stew in his own guilt for a minute, then stepped it up a little.
“When a body is raised through necromancy, it prevents the soul from passing into the afterlife. The soul is trapped within the undead creature until it is killed again. They say that undeath is torment for the soul. The undead are robbed of their free will and subject only the will of the one who raised them. To be in there, and aware of what is happening, but unable to do anything about it… I can’t imagine it.”
I saw a tear run down Gorsch’s cheek before he quickly wiped it away.
“But, you killed him again, so his soul is free now, right?” he asked, speaking through the lump in his throat.
“Yes,” I said. “His soul should be on its way to whatever afterlife it was destined for by now.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Thank you for setting him free.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I kept walking on towards the library. Gorsch took one last look at the cauldron and followed.
We came next to Mokmurian’s study. Gorsch took a few steps in and stopped. He surveyed the room: the piles of books on the desk, the artifacts displayed on the bookshelves, the bloodstains on the floor.
“Do you mind if I stay here a bit?” he asked, eyeing the books on the desk. “I’d like to find out more about what he was up to.”
“Go ahead,” I said. I turned and left the room, then turned invisible again and came back to stand in the doorway and watch. I had left the book detailing the procedure for destroying the cauldron with several others on Mokmurian’s desk. I could not tell him of my findings myself. I was certain a part of him still considered me the enemy, and he would not commit suicide at the enemy’s bidding. No, he had to discover this part for himself. Still, there was no guarantee he would read the whole book, and he was unlikely to find the important part without a little nudge. I stood quietly and waited. Gorsch first paced all along the perimeter of the room, examining the bookshelves that lined it, and the fireplace on the far wall. When he had done that, he walked slowly over to Mokmurian’s desk and sat down at it. He picked a book at random and began to leaf through it. I gave him twenty minutes without any interference, and he flipped through several books, reading a page or two here and there. The next time he reached for a book, I acted. I reached out with my mind and touched his, planting a simple suggestion on the surface – just a hunch, and inkling, that this one particular book was the one he was looking for. I relaxed my hold a bit as he reached for the right book. He began to flip through, and read a few pages near the beginning. He flipped forward a bit, read another page, and moved to put the book down. Extending my mental probe into his mind again, I pushed: don’t give up yet; there’s something here. Gorsch picked the book back up. He began to flip through every page, not reading the whole page, but quickly scanning for keywords that might jump out. It was not long before he stopped. He had found the right place. I waited with bated breath as he read through the key passage. Then, one last time, I reached into his mind, deeper this time, and planted a thought: I couldn’t protect Kusich; but I can keep it from happening again. Gorsch would believe that this thought was his own.
I left now, and returned to the library. I couldn’t control what Gorsch would do with his new information and his implanted suggestion. But I had done all I could, and now it was time to wait and see if he would do his part.
◊◊◊
I returned to Mokmurian’s study a few hours later to check if Gorsch was still there. He was not. I walked on down the hall to the room with the cauldron.
The cauldron lay cracked in two on the stone floor. The acrid contents had spread across the room and cooled to a sticky mess. There was no sign of Gorsch, but I knew there was only one way this could have happened.
“Thank you, Gorsch,” I said aloud, to the empty room, “for your sacrifice. I’m sorry I had to do that to you.”

Welcome to The Oblivion Cycle universe, a vast setting spanning all of time and space and so much more. While many stories may shed perspective on this grand cosmic vista, there are also tales of adventure and sacrifice, romance and terror, grimdark corruption and scientific progress. To become immersed in the setting is to let the chaos of creativity flow through you, to let go of what is probable to discover what’s possible. I have created TOC for one reason, to inspire and entertain any who will listen. So please feel free to join me on this great adventure as I push the boundaries of what is possible and expand the limits of our creativity together. For more information on the setting and its lore there is a subreddit for TOC at TheOblivionCycle and a Discord server dedicated to it here [​ https://discord.gg/uGsYHfdjYf ] called ‘The Oblivion Cycle Community Server’. I hope you find the following story entertaining and once more, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.
+ E1:P1 + E2:P1 + Previous + Next +
_______________________________________
Continued From E2:P5
Commander Siyel sat down and tried once more to reconcile the shitstorm that the day had turned into. It had started off so promisingly, she had finally secured Slake and had been one step closer to unveiling a fundamental truth about the criminal underground that ran rampant in Cheenha. And yet as always she had found the thread cut before she could successfully tug on it. Still, this was by far the closest she had gotten before. That's what made the failure sting so much, the pain of knowing just how close she was to figuring this whole mess out.
She sat at her desk, her horned head falling forwards into her hands as she growled to herself in frustration. She sat back in the soft, padded ranx-leather chair and eyed the small wooden cabinet next to her desk. She shook her head slowly before muttering, “Ah.. to a hel with it.” Siyel reached out a long fingered hand and keyed the activation code to the small locked cabinet and licked her lips with her blue tongue.
The door swung open with a click and revealed the contents. A set of crystal glasses and several bottles of pale pink liquor seemed to smile at her, beckoning like long lost friends. She found herself moving on instinct, she grabbed a pair of cups and one of the bottles before pouring two shots of the liquid. She set the bottle down and stared at the second glass with a heavy heart.
She had given up drinking the day her husband had been killed, she had told herself that she would not imbibe again till she had solved the mystery. But seeing his favorite crecini ale in front of her, the bubbles forming on the glass and slowly rising to the top. It was almost too much. She swept her arm out angrily and scattered the glasses off her desk, the clatter of them hitting the floor as loud as gunshots to her ears in the enclosed office.
She stood suddenly, her tail stiff and her eyes following the path of her destruction. There was alcohol splattered across the floor in front of her desk. The smell of it conjuring memories she couldn't bear to think about. She made a desperate grab for the bottle and took a long and satisfying pull from the source. The lukewarm liquor burned a trail from her mouth to her belly, a deep satisfying fire that simultaneously warmed her body and dulled her mind.
As she placed the bottle back down on her desk she frowned at her own weakness. She took another drink, the liquor burning like coals as it traveled down her throat and seemed to light a fire in her middle. She smiled widely at the sensation, it had been three years this month since the accident. She had been planning to go and visit their grave but hadn’t yet made the time as busy as she had been.
She sat back into her chair with a heavy sigh, the bottle clutched in her hand like it was her only lifeline. She closed her eyes as she took another long drink and then coughed as the same old feelings tore into her weakened and tired mind. “Oh, Zad.. I miss you and Davi so much. What did I do to deserve this..” She sobbed to herself quietly as she looked out the shuttered window that sat across from her desk. The alcohol was slowly taking effect, but not nearly fast enough to block out the past.
The night was cold and dark outside, but the darkness held no answers as she fell into that buzzing blissful oblivion that only heavy drink can offer. The pain of the long day fading in her mind as she took another drink. The healthy buzzing sensation in her mind made her think of Balinski and she sat up straight in surprise at the sudden tangent.
She thought about the feeling of the large man’s protective arms sweeping her up off her feet, the look in the cyborg’s remaining eye as he had carried her as easily as a child. She cursed and threw the nearly empty bottle across the room, the thick glass didn't break though. Instead it simply bounced off the wall and left a neat semicircular dent. “No! You know what has to happen..” She started to say before she slumped back down into the chair.
She shook her head, she couldn't think those kinds of thoughts anymore. Not when they would only ever lead to more pain. She cringed inwards at the thoughts that chased her conscious mind, she was losing control.
With a jolt she realised that she didn’t seem to regret the notion. She was tired, tired of the corruption and death. Tired of the endless killing and the thought of all the good lives lost in the pursuit of her hopeless goals. She would never find out who was responsible, not alone anyways. She once more thought of Balinski, but this time she thought about how fast the man had gotten through to the bottom of cases that had held up the CPD for what seemed like months or years.
She sat up straight again as she smiled widely, her white molars flashing in the dimly lit office. She nodded. “Yes, there’s somebody who can cut through the red tape.” In her somewhat inebriated state it all seemed so clear now. The puzzle pieces that had been spinning in the rear of her mind were slowly connecting together as if guided by some powerful inner force.
He had the remarkable ability to get to the bottom of things that otherwise seemed obfuscated by the constant bureaucratic ranxshit of the department. She shook her head as her tail lashed behind her through the small hole in the seat. Yes, she would use him to cut through to the meaty core of the problem. She would keep him close, just because he was such an effective tool and not for.. She shuddered as the thought of the man’s face once more rose unbidden in her mind. Not for any other reasons.
Siyel leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes. She was still wearing her messy uniform and the damaged body armour a-top it. But despite everything that had happened she felt safer in this office than in her own house, and so she stayed. The night getting darker despite the muted neon glow of the city without that glinted off the shattered glass and spilled alcohol that lay upon the floor.
She closed her eyes and found sleep soon after. Her dreams muted and grey, the thought of something large and powerful stalking her making the nerivith woman mew pitifully within her nightmares. But at every turn the monsters were blocked by a towering saviour that banished these imagined demons back to hell with a thunderous pistol. The green glint of a cybernetic eye showing from the dark, shadowed clothing they wore over their cybernetics.
**********
Balinski was awoken by something prodding him in the ribs. He grunted painfully as his bruised body reacted poorly to the intrusion.
Sitting up, he looked around the room. Caesar seemed to already be up and about, it must have been her that had awoken him. He took a deep breath and risked a stretch, his back muscles protesting as the scent of food reached his sluggish mind. At the same time he heard a whine from Caesar as she looked up longingly at the two plates of slightly steaming food that sat atop the rolling table by the bed.
With a jolt he realised that his previously discarded clothes were missing and he jumped to his feet. He looked around the room frantically until his eyes alighted on a bundle by the door on a clothing rack. He walked over to it stiffly and realised with a small chuckle that it was his clothing.
His coat and shoes looked to have been washed, the trench coat was still full of holes though. The singed and frayed edges flashing conspicuously now that the garment wasn't covered in blood and dirt. He pulled the coat on with some difficulty, his shoulders were stiff beyond belief and his back was killing him. At least his arms and legs were fine, he hadn't really taken the time to give them a once over to make sure the various bullet and laser impacts had not damaged them. He did so now and was relieved to find that, while a little scuffed up, his cybernetics were in remarkably good condition.
He was going to have to schedule an inspection of them to make sure, but they would be fine for the moment. He needed to get ready to go and find out what was going on.
As Balinski pulled on his boots he saw Caesar perk up and then climb slowly to her feet and let out a yawn. He smiled and walked back to the edge of the bed before sitting on the light blue mattress. He patted the bed next to him and Caesar put her paws up on it and then whined pitifully while giving him the most annoyingly adorable puppy dog eyes.
“Oh you lazy grub. Fine, I’ll help you.” He chuckled at her antics as she grumbled in mock annoyance, he wrapped an arm under her front and hauled her onto the bed where she proceeded to flop back down into the covers. “You want breakfast or not? I’m not going to feed you like you are some sort of roman potentate.”
Caesar understood part of the reference, likely not getting the full meaning. She huffed anyways, understanding that he wasn’t going to feed her morsels from a silver dog dish. She scuffled a little closer to the edge of the bed where he placed the plate of bland hospital food in front of her. He chuckled as she took a sniff and then recoiled visibly.
“It’s not going to hurt you. Eat it, I promise I will get you something better later.” She looked at him flatly, one of her little brows raising slightly as she gave him a very undog-like look. He chuckled again. “Okay, you don't have to eat the scrambled eggs. Here, I’ll trade you my sausage patties for them. Ok? Happier now you little picky princess?”
She seemed indeed happier with this arrangement as she scarfed them down. He ate his double helping of unseasoned eggs slowly, making sure to chew and savour every bite in an effort to annoy his furry companion. She pointedly ignored him, turning her back to face him as she looked at the small bedside monitor.
Balinskli shook his head slightly. She was such a drama queen at times.
As he finished the last few bites of fluffy egg he heard the door open and looked up, surprise crossing his features as a pair of officers stepped inside and nodded to him. After a second another person strode through the door and caused him to jerk upright. It was Siyel, the tall alien woman looked scruffy and tired but seemingly in good spirits as she stopped a meter from his bed and looked around the room briefly.
She gestured to him and then spoke quickly, her long tufted tail wagging slowly behind her at ankle level. “Oh good, I was looking all over for you before I realised that you would most likely be here.” She walked around the bed to where Caesar was still pouting and crouched down to look at her. “I am glad to see you are doing so much better Caesar.” She smiled as the pup gave her an encouraging woof and tail wag.
Balinski wiped his mouth and placed his wide brimmed hat on his head, standing up and taking a single step towards the wall. “What’s the message?”
She cocked her horned head. “The message? I’m not sure what you mean.” He raised a hand to explain but she continued over the top of him. “Well, it’s not important right now. I came down here to tell you that the prisoner you captured did in fact have knowledge of the attack. He cracked about thirty minutes ago, I just came from his cell.”
This caused Balinski to straighten. That was in fact news of the best kind. Especially after the horrendous actions of last night. “What did that frillhead say?”
She smiled, her fungivore teeth flashing at him as she answered slowly. “He told us where the attack was staged from. I already have a task force gearing up and ready to move out. I was just waiting for my number one warden.” She paused and gave him a pointed look.
Balinski felt a little odd, that look seemed to convey more meaning than he was picking up from her speech alone. He wondered what had changed between them after yesterday, thoughts of how overly protective he had been of her arose unbidden to his mind. Maybe she was trying to tell him to lay off a little?
He decided that he would just take her words at face value, much less danger of misinterpretation that way. “Gotcha. Caesar, are you feeling good enough to move out? I know the doctor stimmed you up with some quickheal last night after the surgery. Oh don't give me that, let's go.” He prodded her as she pretended to be asleep.
Siyel shook her head and glanced his way, the light glinted off her violet eyes and gave him pause. For the briefest of moments he thought she had the same look on her face as last night, when he had carried her through the halls away from danger. But in a flash it was gone, replaced by the same stern look she seemed to have permanently plastered on her face. Had he imagined it or was he simply going crazy. ‘Well, Crazier.’ he thought silently with a chuckle under his breath.
“Okay, I’m ready.” He checked his shoulder holster and belt ammunition. Everything seemed to be in order and Caesar hopped to the floor with an annoyed sound that he chose to ignore.
Siyel smiled slightly and mentioned as they walked to the doorway, “Oh, I had somebody pick up that gauss cannon you were using. Consider it yours if you want it. A little thank you for services rendered in the attack last night.” A was a little taken aback by that show of generosity. A new or even used GR74F would have set him back a few tens of thousands of osmir if he had purchased one on his own and likely would have been heavily scrutinised by local authorities.
He gave her a gracious nod, it truly was an incredible gift. “Then I gladly accept. I will put it to good use I can assure you.”
She nodded sternly as they exited the room flanked by the two officers, “I know you will.”
He followed her quickly down the stairs and through the hospital wing. The precinct was attached to the local medical structure in such a way as to be indistinguishable from the outside. It helped to have the two in such close proximity when some of the officers and those they might have to bring in sustained injuries.
She led him and Caesar along corridors that still had bloodstains and bullet holes in the dark carbcrete. He glanced at them, anger filling his heart at the sight of such desecration. This place was a monument of order and stability in the chaos of the huge city, and all these lowlife scum had done by kicking the hornet’s nest was piss off every single officer in the entire district. If not the whole city.
He still had that sour taste in his mouth from when he had learned there were traitors in their midst, how many more of them drew their salaries from both the city and its slimy underbelly. How many more of these so-called officers of the law were breaking every oath they had sworn to? He broke from the dark line of reasoning,
They skirted around a conspicuous stain on the floor and then turned another corner, entering into a much larger room. It looked similar in structure to the building’s main entrance except that it seemed to lead to some sort of internal garage. Siyel led them across the space with only a few head nods to others that walked past. He wanted to stop and ask what the plan was, but he could tell from her determined walk that now was not the time.
They walked through a series of doorways, each one now accompanied by a CPD officer in heavy riot gear and holding a number of powerful weapons from shotguns to beam rifles. He glanced to her and she smiled. “Enhanced security measures. It was decided that after the disaster of the attack that we could benefit from a little extra combat readiness. Also, Brigadeer Dreenth has agreed to beef up our arsenal after the incident.”
She tossed her head at the remark, her short black hair bouncing around her long curving horns. “Beef huh? Like what?”
She made a nonchalant gesture and remarked calmly, “Oh nothing much. More power armour for additional Havoc units, a shipment of small arms and some surplus tanks.”
That caught him off guard. His remaining eye widened under the shadow of his wide brimmed hat. “Tanks? Like what, Quintens?”
She shook her head as he followed her into a large open space filled with scurrying officers and police vehicles. He could see a few longsword class APCs as well, their dark blue armour plates giving them a distinctly sinister vibe. “No, I only wish we could get so lucky. No, the governor shuffled half a dozen Tumbler Type-Ys from mothball. Sure they are thirty year old models, but I will take what I can get.”
She didn't seem to miffed about it and he could very well guess why, the Type-Ys were still classified as medium tanks. They were bonafide combat vehicles with thick armour and designed to pack a hell of a punch. Any one of them could single handedly have turned the enemy assault back on its own before it had even begun.
He noticed one of the APCs ahead had several familiar looking figures surrounding it. As they drew near he recognised the officers of Delta squad, the same ones that had helped when he had taken down Slake the day before. ‘Had it really only been a day?’ he thought to himself.
The cracked duracrete scuffed under his boots as they came to a stop. A tall slaaveth man with a damaged head fin stepped forwards, it was Jerg. He snapped a crisp salute to Siyel who returned it as he said, “We are locked and loaded, ready to roll on your command. We will take the fight back to these Drekking sludge slurpers.” He spoke with a gurgle of hatred in his voice.
He glanced at Balinski and gave him a respectful nod that he returned. Siyel gestured to the vehicle, “Well, load up. We will meet you on site.” She glanced at Balinski, “Follow me, we are riding in the Beast.”
He smiled and just motioned for Caesar to follow. “What’s the Beast?”
She pointed to a nearby vehicle and he found himself impressed in spite of his misgivings. Calling the monstrosity that sat before him the Beast made much more sense. The vehicle was large, larger even than the APC that Delta force had climbed into. It was also tall, at least four meters from the base of its tri-wheels to the top of its armoured cupolas. From the rear arose a complex looking mast of antenna and communications equipment that looked more fit for a radio station than a vehicle.
He stepped closer, the next thing that impressed him was the design of the vehicle itself. It had tri-star wheel arrangement with the fully articulated triple wheels capable of handling almost any type of terrain. All twelve were driven at once but only eight seemed to be in contact with the ground at any one time. He wondered to himself what kind of torque that must require, but given that he could see the tell-tale radiator vanes of a nuclear reactor on the rear he surmised that the monstrosity didn’t lack for power.
She stepped up to the front of the aptly named Beast and walked up the ramp that was hanging down from the side of its cabin. He ascended into the cabin behind her and was immediately surprised by the fact he could stand inside. Not comfortably, his head was pretty much touching the roof and it caused him to stoop to avoid knocking off his hat.
She turned and then took a seat at a small console station next to a large atraxses officer wearing a CPD emblazoned sash. They looked to be female, but it was remarkably hard to tell from the angle he was at. Both male and female atraxses were rather large and bulky.
Siyel gestured for him to sit as well as the ramp closed and the vehicle began to shudder slightly. “Welcome to my mobile command vehicle. I was able to beg this off of Major Davy in precinct four as it had been sitting in storage for months. It's a fully articulated and combat capable mobile outpost with all the bells and whistles.” She gestured excitedly to something besides him and he had to do a double take as he realised he was sitting next to a fully operational autokitchen.
“What in the, you can cook in here?” He asked dumbly.
Siyel nodded with a grin and turned back to her monitoring station before slipping a pair of multi–species headphones over her horned head. Clearly the vehicle was made for extended deployments, though he wasn’t really expecting this jaunt to turn into one. He sat back in the seat, it was nice not to be worried for a change. The armour plating on the Beast would resist anything but high calibre anti-vehicle weapons.
He felt the large armoured vehicle buck slightly. They were underway to the location it seemed and he still didn’t know what had happened. He swallowed and then waved a hand towards Siyel. The large atraxses woman grunted in mild annoyance as she was temporarily distracted by his antics and he gave her an apologetic gesture.
Siyel pulled the headset off the ear facing him and muttered distractedly, “Hmm? What do you need Balinski?”
He shrugged his shoulders as he asked her the plan. “So, what are we on route to exactly? I know you said you got the location from that near braindead filthwallower, but what did they tell you actually?” He rubbed his hands together. Not exactly worried, but apprehensive about the true nature of the situation nonetheless. Caesar laid down at his feet as he worried, her body pressed against his legs as she closed her eyes. He smiled, she always found the time to get some rest. Given the night they had, he wasn’t that surprised she was still tired. He certainly was.
Siyel sighed and then took off the headset, placing it around her neck. “The man you arrested broke under some pretty heavy questioning last night. He wasn’t very bright it seemed, but he was smart enough to be let in on some of the more sensitive details of the mission. Such as the fact that the entire operation was organised in order to kill Slake before he could reveal any information. They had hoped to catch us out at Slake’s compound in which case we would likely have all been slaughtered.” She grimaced at that, less total officers would have lost their lives in that case, but it wasn't something she could have controlled.
He raised a hand. “Hey, we did the right thing at every step of the way. You did the right thing.”
She nodded her head, her raven hair shifting from behind her horns a little at the motion. She brushed it back into place as she answered, “Yea, I know that objectively, Balinski. But no amount of telling myself that is going to bring back the good men and women that died in the line of duty last night. By the powers that be..” She trailed off for a few seconds. When she looked back at him the determination had once more masked her emotions.
She waved a hand at the computer readouts in front of her. One in particular caught his attention. “This is a small laundromat located about sixteen blocks from the precinct. Practically within spitting distance, well.. it isn't quite as mundane as the faded lettering of its exterior might otherwise have you believe. It turns out that Sleeves and Crease is a front for the Pit Vipers organisation.” She explained.
Her matter-of-fact statement took him a second to register. “Wait, the Pit Vipers gang operates out of there? This close to the precinct?” She nodded solemnly. “Then we are almost there, that's only a few minutes drive!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, and it pains me to admit that I had suspected there were close operating gang facilities. What with so many places for them to hide in the city or its underground. I am surprised it took us this long to figure it out.” She seemed a bit upset by the news. And he could very well understand why.
He looked at the screen again, the small building was the first floor of a larger complex. It looked as innocuous as it was drab. Not at all something that would act as a face for one of the most notorious blood hungry murder gangs in the city. The pit vipers were known for their extreme violence, last night’s attack had all the hallmarks of their cruelty.
Balinski checked his cybernetic diagnostics briefly and then cracked his neck. “Okay, so when we go in there, what exactly am I looking for?”
Siyel turned towards him and made an almost apologetic gesture, he saw her tail coil into the small of her back in a gesture of compunction. Her hesitation gave him pause. “What. What is it?” He was wary now.
She pushed herself away from the computer for a moment as she gestured to the screen. “You aren't going to be participating in this raid Balinski.”
As far as bombshells went, it wasn't a nuke. But he still opened his eye wide in surprise. “Not going on the raid? What the shit do you mean?”
Siyel tapped on the keypad and brought up a list of officers. Amongst them the members of Delta squad were first and foremost. “I have the best that is available going in there. You are injured and tired and far from your best right now.” He tried to protest but she locked down, her tufted tail lashing behind her now. “No, you listen to me. You are one of the best assets I have at my disposal, and I will admit that freely. Don't let it go to your head. Anyways, I am keeping you here to watch and observe. I need your expertise to make sure that we don’t miss anything.” She gestured for him to move his chair closer to the computers.
He looked down and noticed that the chair was mounted in a rail, he undid the lock and moved smoothly to her side where she showed him how to open the control panel. He could see everything, the helmet feeds of the officers, the live feeds from the vehicles and even a picture of himself seated next to Siyel. He looked over his shoulder and located the camera, it was sitting in the open and not at all hidden.
From the telemetry data that was tracking on one of the lower screens he could see that the first units were already on the street that approached the laundromat. The back doors of the APCs slamming open and heavily geared delta squad forces spilling out. He watched as several of them that he recognised as being in Jerg’s squad ran to the front door of the laundromat and took up positions on either side.
The store was dark and the flickering neon sign out front displayed that it was closed. That wasn’t an issue, in fact it was much better that way. Much less chance of civilians being caught in any potential crossfire.
Siyel had replaced her headset and was now speaking over the comms. He couldn't hear what she was hearing and looked around for a spare headset while she directed the scene, “Yes, forwards more and to the right. Watch out for the glass, there could be armed assailants within. Yes they would.. no.” She continued speaking as he found one and slipped it on, he had to remove his hat in order to wear the headset properly.
He heard one of the officers on the ground speak up. “We are in position. Mark?”
Siyel nodded, “You are good to go, mark one.”
Balinski looked back at the screen. A large figure in heavy riot gear scuttled to the door, it looked like a vinarfel male. Not Daryon then. The figure raised a siege ram and swung it at the door with inhuman insectoid strength and the door evaporated into a cloud of splinters and debris as the delta force operatives rushed inside the building in a wave of armoured fury.
Continued in E2:P7
==End of Transmission==

“A little to the right, William,” Eleanor said warmly, noticing the boy was having trouble centering the baby’s breath and forget-me-nots exploding from the clear crystal vase.
“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery,” William responded with a small smile.
She had given up on telling him to call her Eleanor, so she gave him a slight nod and went on her way. Tonight was her first gala since the New Year; everything needed to be perfect. Eleanor strode through the ballroom, her fingers grazing the cotton tablecloths as she eyed the decorations with a harsh gaze.
Eleanor was barefoot, dressed in a simple nightgown, her hair done up in curlers. It was odd for a woman of her status to let herself be seen in such a state, but Eleanor trusted her staff not to gossip, and she didn’t see her husband nearly enough for him to cause a problem.
After a final sweep of the room, she deemed it fit for the ball and headed up the grand staircase to her room. There, she spent the next two hours getting ready. She carved cheekbones with a light brown powder, lined her eyes to make them look sharper, and selected the perfect nude to color her lips. She was beautiful, agonizingly so. Blonde curls flowed effortlessly down her shoulders, her dress a misty blue; it always matched the flowers. She wore diamonds around her neck and ears, though they reminded one more of pristine water droplets than real gems. Without the click of her heels on the hardwood, one would think she was merely floating down the hallway.
Eleanor reached the top of the grand staircase, stopping to look down on the guests mingling below. She observed them for a moment, invisible to them on the stairs like she was a falcon preparing to swoop down and snatch up prey. That’s what Eleanor fancied herself: a predator. The ballroom was enormous. Looking down at it almost gave her vertigo; she was standing on a precipice of good manners and fake laughter, ready to jump. Marvelous, intricate carvings stretched to the ceiling, lit perfectly by several glass chandeliers, ready to fall in a clash of glass and blood.
Eleanor inhaled deeply, oxygen reaching the dark depths of her lungs, excitement making her head spin. The chorus of small talk stopped, all eyes on her as she descended; the echo of heels was deafening. She often gave a welcome once she reached the bottom, but tonight, it felt redundant. So, as she stepped on the floor level with her guests, she smiled, waved her hand, and said in a casual but practiced tone, “Well, go on!”
The chorus returned. Eleanor began to make her rounds, determined to talk to every guest. She snagged a glass of champagne on her way to chat with her bridge group.
“Ladies! How are we this evening? I’m dying to catch up,” Eleanor said, a convincing fake smile plastered on her face.
“Eleanor, you have done it again! The ball has barely started, and it's already an exceptional hit,” the woman across from Eleanor said.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” Eleanor responded, “So, catch me up! I haven’t heard a piece of news in a whole week.”
“Someone shouldn’t miss the weekly bridge game, then,” Charlotte said, a cheerycheery tone replaced by a passive-aggressive one.
“Oh, come off it, Charlotte, it's not Eleanor’s fault,” another woman commented.
“Thank you, Elsie. If you want to blame anyone, blame Henry.” Eleanor smirked, “He’s the one who kept me up so late…”
The girls giggled at the suggestive comment and delved into catching Eleanor up on what she missed.
Several conversations and one crude comment from one of Henry’s coworkers later, Eleanor decided to slip away for a moment. She dipped into the kitchen, using the back staircase to avoid suspicion. She walked into the library, another great room in her home, though hardly any rooms were less than vast. The library was dark, relying heavily on big windows that let in natural light and a few gas lamps that flickered weakly. There were rows and rows of bookshelves reaching to the ceiling. Eleanor had always wanted a sliding ladder, but Henry didn’t see the point in her reading, much less her physically climbing literary heights. A small seating area was opposite the door, with plush leather chairs and ashtrays stacked on end tables. Eleanor loved the library; it was always quiet, not that the mansion was ever loud, but the books seemed to have a way of oppressing the mere thought of noise.
It was not quiet now. Eleanor could hear the light rustle of turning pages and the soft in and out of breath. Someone was there, standing in her library, leafing through one of her books.
“Who are you?” Eleanor asked, anger and suspicion evident in her voice.
The man, loitering in the middle of her library, looked up and smiled at her.
“Who are you?” the man questioned back.
“I asked first,” Eleanor replied.
“I asked second,” the man said; Eleanor rolled her eyes.
“It’s my house.”
The man narrowed his eyes before his face split into the same easy smile, “Fine, I concede. You win. Wesley Ackworth,” he said, extending his hand toward Eleanor.
Eleanor looked him up and down before gingerly taking his hand, ‘Eleanor Montgomery.”
Wesley was handsome. He was tall and fit. His dark hair fell perfectly on his face, and he wore a gentle smile that lit up his light brown eyes. She would have been flustered if she had not spent most of her time staring at a mirror, practicing and perfecting her facial expressions, controlling the minuscule muscles that threatened to twitch. She had half the mind to order him to leave and let her bask in silence. Instead, she gestured for him to sit opposite her in the extravagant leather chair.
“Why are you in my library?” She questioned, intrigue trumping anger.
“I was bored,” the man sighed.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, “I don’t know you.” 

“I don’t know you either; we already have so much in common.”
Eleanor scoffed and pressed on, “I know everyone here, but not you.”
“I came with Charlotte.”
“Charlotte Baker?”
“Yes,” Wesley said, “I believe she is in your bridge group.”
“Oh, she’s lovely to play with,” Eleanor lied effortlessly.
“I’m sure she is,” Wesley said, smiling knowingly, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“I suppose so,” Eleanor said.
“You don’t drink,” Wesley says, though it's not a question.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Sherlock Holmes,” Eleanor responded, tilting her head toward the end table where she had set down her glass.
“It’s full.”
“It was just refilled.”
“When a cold liquid is poured into a warm glass, condensation forms on the outside. And yet, I find there is an absence of condensation on your glass.”
Eleanor said nothing, choosing to glare at Wesley, curiosity bubbling in her stomach.
“There aren’t any lipstick marks on the rim of the glass either,” Wesley continued; Eleanor unconsciously pursed her lips.
“I’m a careful drinker.”
The pair stared at each other for a long second, like cowboys ready to draw.
“You don’t drink.”
“I don’t drink,” Eleanor said, suddenly bored of the game.
“Why?” he questioned.
“Uh uh uh,” Eleanor tsked, “It’s my turn to ask a question.”
“Fine.”
“Why are you here?” Eleanor asked.
“I came with Charlotte, as I’ve said.”
“Charlotte has a husband. Are you her mistress?” she asked, voice laced with sarcasm.
Wesley rolled his eyes, “He’s sick. I’m her brother. ”
“You’re lying,” Eleanor gasped, feigned sympathy plastered on her face, leaning forward in mock interest.
Wesley stared at her momentarily, eyes sliding up and down her figure.
“He’s dying, actually—cancer. I’m here in his absence,” he said.
“Poor Charlotte,” Eleanor said, concern etched into her voice, tears forming but never spilling.
“Poor, poor Charlotte,” Wesley smiled knowingly.
“It’s good you’re here then.”
“Yes. It is,” Wesley said, leaning toward Eleanor as he spoke, flirtation dripping from his voice.
Eleanor mirrored his action and opened her mouth to say something but thought better. Instead, she smirked, lifted herself from her chair, grabbed her drink, and left.
The rest of the party went along as they all did: she pretended to be drunker than she was, spilling messy secrets in not-so-hushed whispers before ending the night bidding adieu from the top of the stairs. She would then retire to her room and sleep as if she were a corpse: dead and peaceful.
Two days later, Eleanor received a thank you note. This wasn’t uncommon; she usually got five or six, but his letter differed. It was more personal than the other letters, which were littered with simple pleasantries and thanks.
My Dearest Eleanor,
I cannot say I enjoyed most of the party; in fact, most of it was immensely dreary. You weren’t, though. I’ll be in attendance next time. In the same spot. I look forward to your company.

 -Wesley 

Though the note's confidence amused Eleanor, she told herself she would not sneak away to the library during the next ball. She was lying, of course; blood thudded through her veins, and a small tingling sounded through her whole body. It was a feeling she had yet to feel about another person: excitement—not the dull, fleeting excitement lying brought her.
A month and four days had passed since Eleanor’s last gala. She stood in the ballroom, practically giddy with excitement. She could feel it in her fingertips, the buzzing that made her feel alive. It was stupid. She knew it was. How could a woman like her be so excited to throw a party? But she was. God, she was. Eleanor came up with the conclusion that it was the control— the weight of the strings as she maneuvered them like puppets. She craved it.
Eleanor’s gown was green this time —dark and emerald. Tendrils of lace stretched down her arms, mimicking vines. She had dainty white flowers stuck in her hair. It was the beginning of spring, and Eleanor loved a theme.
It was nearing the end of the ball when Eleanor ascended the stairs and walked down the familiar dark hallway. She was eager but forced herself to slow down her steps so as not to give off her anticipation. She stalled in front of the door, dark wood carved with intricate florals, taking a deep breath to the jittering of her brain. It sickened her to want something so innocently —to be antsy like a child.
“Eleanor,” Wesley called; he was sitting in the same chair as last time, back turned to her.
“Wesley,” Eleanor responded, sitting opposite him; her champagne glass thunked dully as it hit the side table.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Eleanor asked, eyeing the book propped open in Wesley’s lap.
“I had a drink first.”
“Is someone a little eager?” she teased, deflecting her excitement.
“Someone is very bored of the socialite life already,” Wesley said, closing the book and plopping it down on a side table.
“You’ve been to one party, Wesley. Calling yourself a socialite is so egotistical of you,” Eleanor scoffed.
“Oh, because it takes so much to be wealthy and beautiful.”
“Darling, more than you would ever believe,” she said, leaning in as if it were a secret.
Wesley laughed and rolled his eyes, letting silence settle over them before asking, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why do you pretend to be someone you are not?”
Eleanor stalled for a moment, “It’s fun.”
“It’s fun?”
“Is that not a sufficient answer?” she narrowed her eyes at him.
“What is the honest answer?” he said.
“I get a question first,” she smirked.
“Fine.”
“Are you some kind of recluse? There has to be a reason I’ve never seen you.”
“I live in America.”
She laughed shortly, “Well, that would be why.”
He smiled before restating the question, “What is the honest answer?
“You know, I pity your wife. You obviously don’t know that a lady requires a little foreplay before jumping right in.”
He smirked but stayed silent.
Eleanor sighed, “For a second, Wesley, imagine my life. I’m home, alone, all day with nothing to do but sit with myself. I was going mad; one can only have so many brunches before they get exceptionally dull. So I started…pretending as you so gracefully put it. It made my life interesting again.”
Wesley simply stared at her, eyes narrowing. Calculating.
“You think I’m lying,” she smiled.
“No. I don’t,” Wesley said.

My Dearest Eleanor, There are other things that can make your life interesting. -Wesley 

Eleanor did not respond. She tucked the letter away in the bottom drawer of her bedside table. She knew her silence was answer enough.
Once, they met on a balcony. It was the middle of summer, and Eleanor decided to have the ball in the courtyard. It made more sense in the warmer months; the house would get too stuffy to be comfortable with so many people.
A soft, warm wind caressed Eleanor’s face. She sighed. They hadn’t had much to talk about tonight; Charlotte’s husband passed only a week prior, putting a sort of damper on the party. The two were standing on a terrace off the side of the house so as not to be in full view of the guests.
“Wesley, I’m bored,” Eleanor complained.
“Is it my turn to ask a question?”
“I honestly do not care.”
Wesley smiled at her, “Do you love him?”
“Henry?” she asked.
Wesley nodded.
“No,” she stated simply.
“Then why are you with him?”
“I have no other choice.”
“You always have a choice, Eleanor,” Wesley sighed.
“Maybe you do. That’s not how it works for us.”
Wesley rolled his eyes, “Us?”
“Us. Women. Wesley, I was married a week after my 18th birthday. I hadn’t even met Henry yet. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Eleanor said as she felt rage rise within her, threatening to spill out in the form of saline and salt.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t have a choice,” he said.
Eleanor scoffed.
“Well, you have a choice now, at least,” he supplied.
“Oh yeah, and what choice is that?” Eleanor laughed mirthlessly.
“You could leave him.”
“And give up all the wealth a girl could dream of? No, thank you,” Eleanor joked, desperate to calm the instinct to tear Wesley limb from limb.
“Is the wealth worth being married to a prick?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, fake smile plastered on, “How do you know he’s a prick?”
“I work with him,” Wesley said.
“I’m sorry. Since when?” Eleanor asked, slightly taken aback.
“I started around five years ago, and then two years later, they asked me to take over the branch in America. Those first three years were terrible; I mean, he really is a wanker. How can one man be so obnoxious?”
Eleanor laughed genuinely. There was a beat of silence.
“Does he at least love you?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Wesley, we sleep in separate rooms. We see each other once a day at dinner, if that. Plus, I’m fairly certain he’s sleeping with Elsie.”
“The dark-haired girl from your bridge group?”
“That’s the one.”
“See, he’s an absolute bastard. She’s not even pretty,” he said, the latter part coming out as a whisper.
“How do you know?” Wesley added.
“That he’s sleeping with her?”
Wesley nodded in response.
“I’ve seen the way she looks at him. You don’t look at someone like that and not have seen them naked.”
Wesley chuckled.
Eleanor smiled, “How’s your wife then? Better than my wanker of a husband?”
Wesley glanced down before answering, “I’m not married.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he answered.

My Dearest, Eleanor, I feel I must apologize. (Not for the wanker comment. I’ve just come from cigars with the man; God, he is obnoxious.) I’m sorry, Eleanor. -Wesley 

The letters kept coming, always arriving a day or two after the gala, always without a return address. She would never admit it, but it excited her. She finally had someone to let it. To conspire with.
Eleanor loved dancing. Her parents started her in classes when she was six. Fourteen children bumbling around a dance studio trying to master the steps of the waltz through the speakers of a record with a broken needle. The instructor screeched orders over the music. Eleanor had thought her like a hawk, perched in the corner waiting to swoop down on an unsuspecting pair of dancers. She even looked like a hawk with her sharp downward-pointing nose and scowl drawn on her face.
The children around her whined about the class; quiet whispering about the Hawk’s wrath was all to be heard on their infrequent water breaks. Eleanor would stay silent, instead choosing to watch the Hawk pace the floors, feet stepping in a perfect forty-five-degree angle, head held high. Eleanor was jealous of her menacing grace.
The truth is Eleanor only cared for dancing if she was leading. The push and pull of dance was one thing, but pushing and pulling another person was her specialty. Some days, a boy would be missing from class, and she volunteered to step in. Eleanor enjoyed the uncertainty in her partner’s face as the music began. She would lead them through a path unfamiliar to them. Only Eleanor knew their next move. She would speed up as the music crescendoed, relying on muscle memory as she made her next step, each dance a performance of her ability to control.
Eleanor did not enjoy this dance. She was supposed to be leading it. But now, as Wesley sat across from her in her courtyard, it was her with uncertainty plastered on her face.
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably in the metal garden chair. She resented Wesley for how comfortable he looked. He had shown up at her door unannounced wearing a cream-colored dress shirt with the top couple of buttons undone. It was loosely tucked into dark brown slacks. Casual attire suited him; it sickened her to see him so informal, like he was breaking an unspoken rule between them.
It was beautiful outside. The air was warm and fresh and smelled of blooming honeysuckle. Eleanor took a deep breath. When Eleanor was a child, she and her friends would run out into the fields of her childhood home and pick the flowers right off the tree. She could taste the sickly sweet syrup on her tongue. She grimaced in disgust.
“Wesley, why are you here?” Eleanor pressed.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m lying,” he admits with a soft smile.
Eleanor doesn’t respond, choosing to glare at the man instead. This wasn't the game they played; it was never this dangerous.
“I wanted to see you.”
“What if someone saw you come here, Wesley?” she said, anxiety leaking into her voice, “What would they think?”
“Who cares, Eleanor?”
“I care,” Eleanor said, rising from her seat and looking out at the garden, back to Wesley, her voice forceful, “How can you be so arrogantarogant?”
They both knew the answer.
Eleanor could hear the metal scraping of his chair as Wesley stood up. She counted his light steps as he walked toward her. She felt the heat of his body on her back, mere inches from her. Eleanor closed her eyes and sighed. She turned around. Wesley was so close. She could see the lightest of freckles splattered across his face.
“Wesley,” she said cautiously.
He stayed silent. They stood there, staring at each other like a strange game of chicken. Eleanor didn’t know how long the staring contest lasted; it could have been hours. And then it was over. Eleanor looked away. Then Wesley’s hands were cupping her face and pulling her forward. His hands were warm and soft, the privilege of white collar evident to the touch. His lips were rougher than expected, but she leaned in regardless. Her hands were trapped between them, laying flat on Wesley’s chest. Warmth spread through her whole body; she grabbed desperately at his shirt, pulling him closer before shoving him away entirely.
“I can’t,” tears fell from her golden lashes, her voice fluttered with emotion.
“Why not?” Wesley said quietly, so very quietly.
Eleanor said nothing; she only stared at him apologetically, mouth parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. She pushed past him and walked back into the house.
The next several months went on without mention of the kiss. Eleanor held many more events; she had almost completed her color rotation, though the dresses never repeated. After blue and green, it was creme, then violet, blush, black, and finally a deep vermillion.
Tonight, Eleanor was wearing vermillion. Holly ran down the rail of the stairs. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. A gargantuan tree loomed in the corner of the ballroom, decorated with beautiful glass ornaments. The smell of pine drifted through the whole house, filling Eleanor with a nostalgic itch close to innocence and excitement. Her parents always made such a big deal out of the holidays, showering her with gifts and affection; it was muscle memory for her to be jittery with excitement.
Eleanor was seated like a king in the soft leather chair, posture straight as an arrow, face split with a wry grin. The gas lamps that usually lit the library were extinguished and replaced by candles, making the room dim, romantic even. The flickering lights cast harsh shadows on Eleanor; she looked ravishing.
“Did you get me a Christmas gift?” she asked Wesley, eyes glaring.
“In a way,” he smirked at her.
She gasped like a child, “Did you really?”
He pulled a black velvet jewelry box out of his suit pocket. Eleanor gingerly took it into her hands, opening it with cautious hands. It was a slip of paper—a ticket.
Eleanor’s face fell into a severe expression, “Wesley.”
Wesley stood up from his chair, kneeled before Eleanor, and took her hand into his, “Come with me.”
Her stomach plummeted. The ground beneath her feet was gone. Eleanor had not jumped off the cliff; she had been pushed. Pushed into the realm of knowing. She could no longer ignore the passing glances and dripping innuendoes. Wesley ripped off the blindfold, leaving the truth bare and ugly.
“Wesley,” Eleanor said again, suddenly breathless, vision blurring.
“Charlotte is fine. Her husband passed away months ago. It’s time for me to leave. And I want you to come with me, Eleanor.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
Eleanor stood up, ripping her hand from his, and turned away, “No.”
“What?” Wesley said quietly.
“No. I won’t go with you.”
“Why not?” he was raising his voice now, sadness edging into his tone.
“Wesley, I am married,” she says like a mother scolding her child, “I have a life here.”
Eleanor's back was to him, her posture hunched, like a wounded animal covering gashings of an attack. For the first time in a long time, she seemed frail and small, a baby bird with a broken wing.
“What life?” he pauses to breathe, “You have no life here.”
“How dare you,” she is suddenly very quiet; it is not a question.
“Eleanor, I love you,” he pleads, “I could give you more than this.”
She whips around, looking him in the eyes, tears running down her face, “Why must I always want more!”
Eleanor does not look frail anymore, her shadow dark and ugly behind her. She stands up tall, her shoulders set. Eleanor is yelling now, voice crescendoing; she’s loud enough that the whole party would hear her if there were not a small orchestra playing downstairs. She does not care.
Wesley takes a deep gulp of air, “You were meant to come with me, why don’t you want to?”
His voice is barely audible.
“What?” Eleanor whispers, more to herself than Wesley, and then a louder, “What do you mean?”
Her face is dry, set in stone. Her cheeks are pink with the warmth of the rage boiling inside her.
“I just meant that-”
She cuts him off, “No. You didn’t ‘just mean.’ I have known you for nearly a year now, Wesley, and you have never once ‘just meant’ anything. Why am I meant to go with you?”
Already losing the battle, Wesley concedes, “He told me you would.”
“Who.”
“Eleanor, come on. You are smarter than this.”
“I need you to say it,” she spits.
Wesley is desperate, trying to put the blindfold back on, mend the wounds he tore, undo what cannot be undone. He is failing. Wesley knows he has no play left; in the metaphorical chess game they have been playing, he is surrounded. Rooks and bishops were slaughtered on the checkered tile; his king was backed into a corner, the white flag in his hand served as his only weapon.
“Henry. Henry told me you would go with me. I needed a wife, and he didn’t want you,” he throws the game.
She turns back toward the window, looking into the still night, “Get out.”
His king is gutted, Eleanor stands victorious.
“Eleanor,” he pleads.
“Get out, Wesley.”
He turns to leave, knowing hope is lost, dress shoes scuffing across the wooden floor. Wesley pauses in the doorway, the light from the hallway casting dark shadows over his figure.
“I do love you,” he says, no louder than a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Eleanor hears him take a step.
“I would have gone,” she breathes out.
He stops.
“Eleanor,” Wesley says cautiously.
“I would have gone with you. I would have packed my bags, found out when the ship was leaving, and ran down to the dock to meet you.”
Wesley says nothing, but she hears a soft, broken exhale and the click of his shoes as he recedes down the hallway.
Nothing is the same. The parties blur past Eleanor. Blue, then green, then creme, and so on, pass by her in a flurry of rainbow and satin. She drinks. She is sloppy with her lies. Eleanor becomes her facade. Henry and her start to sleep in the same room again, like when they were first married; he suddenly finds her charming where she once was brash. Eleanor pretends to be happy, and so she is.
And then it's Christmas, and holly decorates the railings, and a giant tree goes up in the ballroom, and Eleanor is wearing vermillion. Her childlike glee is gone, youthful adolescence no longer shrouding the holiday in glowing lights and neatly wrapped presents.
There is a letter in the mail. Eleanor reads it just once before lighting a fire in the hand-carved stone fireplace and tossing it in.
My Dearest, Eleanor,

 I have married. She’s nice. Lovely, even. Nothing like you. With all my love, Wesley 

The results are in for Match 14. The winner is…

Titan Patel and “Calabasas” with a score of 79!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Titan Patel and “Calabasas”	15 (0+6+2) - N/A	We thank everyone who gave their thoughts on this match! For the sake of record keeping, this conceded match is considered to have no (comparative) votes cast, so MBR gets 15 Pop Points (following the Low Turnout + Buffer rules).
Quality	Titan Patel and “Calabasas”	25 (8 8 9) - N/A	Reasoning
JoJolity	Titan Patel and “Calabasas”	29 (10 9 10) - N/A	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Due to unforeseen circumstances, Dead City Haunts made the decision to officially concede from M14. Despite the unfortunate situation, we wish them all the best!

After a long day’s work, Soma’s Cup found itself patronized by more than the riders that had called it home. Tea, alcohol, pasta flowed like water as the construction workers—both professional and deputized—rested and recuperated from the hours of manual labor. Yes, there was still work to be done on the morrow, but the tools and the friendships forged would be enough to carry it on.
Titan, lapping happily from a saucer of diluted green tea, perked up to the sound of a door opening. Not the ethereal chimes of ｢The Doors｣, but the humble bell of the front doors. While they might have once been their boss, here they were just another humble patron, lured by the smell of tea and good company: “Ajay?”
The welder looked up, “Mahimit!” He waved the architect over, shuffling himself and his plate of pasta aside to make room. “Man, it’s been a while since we’ve hung out hasn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Mahi nodded, sliding in next to the welder. “Sorry I couldn’t meet up with you when you first got the the city, I—”
“Don’t worry about it! You’re a busy person nowadays, but we can catch up now!”
The two conversed, separately from the rest of the group who were discussing with each other about a job well done and their plans for the rest of the day. Cal was still among them, but what they had seen in Mahimit came to mind whenever they glanced over to the other two, their discussion lost underneath the cheer of the table.
His hearing better than most, Titan was able to discern Mahimit and Ajay’s friendship, arising from their time studying in Vellore before Ajay’s apprenticeship where they had formed a tight-knit trio with another student in the area, before Mahimit’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone…confronted me the other day. They knew stuff that I thought I had kept private, and they’re threatening to release it to the public unless I push forward to the city planning board something—t-they weren’t clear on what they wanted, but I just…I just don’t know what to do about this.”
Ajay’s response was similarly hushed. “Have you gone to the police about this?”
“And have it go to my father? Half of the higher ups are his military buddies.” Wincing, Mahimit shook his head. “I…I don’t want to risk him finding out. I love him, but I don’t know how much longer I can deal with the whole…”favorite son” thing. I don’t want to disappoint him, but…” He put his head in his hands. “God, I’m not making any sense am I.”
“You don’t have to.” Ajay gingerly patted them on the back. “You’ll figure it out, Mon-Ami. You always do.”
Scenario: Red Velvet Country Club, Vasitanagarh — 10:07 AM
The grandparents of Vastianagarh can remember when the region wasn’t this nice. Until the 70s—within their lifetimes—the locals had to scrounge for the dirty, demeaning work that the rest of Rākinnagarh could not stand. They could remain separated from the smell of waste and water treatment by the mountain that split the city in twain, like chambers of the heart that beat within.
Yet, the same beat of life thumped in the chest of the citizens of Vastianagarh, thumped beneath its earth, and life soon flourished in the region. It was by helping each other up, by turning fortune into fortune, the people of the region were able to rise above their station. Cracked hands that worked rough leather wove the finest fabrics and sold them to those carried forth from across the mountain—across the lands.
Grandparents who could remember walking cracked roads to school now lead their grandchildren by those same hands through streets that connected them to the rest of the city.
These were the stories that the members of the Red Velvet Country Club would tell each other, nouveau riche who were ever thankful for the good fortune that had granted their families such wealth. Bashfully, they would take the opportunity to enjoy it.
Yes, this was a fundraiser—and large checks were made out to Vilduveta compound—but the country club was the local haunt for many of the families that had established themselves within a few generations; indeed many of them would meet here before taking a train or a boat up river to the compound proper. To the guru, this was a fundraiser—but to the donors, this was akin to another round of golf. “Did you hear about that little fundraiser at the edge of Bedtown?”
One donor tutted sadly as she shook her head. “I did, I did—I can’t believe it happened so close to us. I’m glad you don’t seem hurt, Mr. Liang.”
The first, a gentleman in a pastel button-up with its sleeves rolled up, nearly spat out his drink, stumbling slightly at the thought. His conversation partner went to help, but Liang waved her off, insisting that he was fine. “No, no, heaven’s no. With ｢Cage the Elephant｣ roaming around, I would never set foot over there—Maryam, you remember Kali, my daughter, yes?”
“The one taking violin lessons-”
“Yes, them—I had heard about the fundraiser, but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them behind.”
“There’s only so much we can do—at least the thing seems to have disappeared.” Maryam nodded with something between melancholy and relief. Things weren’t perfect in Rakin City, but at least they were getting better, just like they had for Vastianagarh. Suddenly her face lit up as she made eye contact across the patio. “Ah! I think I see Sara over there; please excuse me, I haven’t seen her in so long-”
“No offense taken!” With a brief hug, Maryam let go of her fellow club member, almost bumping into a frazzled Villu Vilduveta. He assured her it was an accident, none of her mimosa got on his robe, and sent her on her way. She would gossip with almost childish excitement that the famed thought-leader was just as kind as the rumors had said, but his mind was spinning.
As proven by the sun beating down upon him, it was solidly summer, and reams of grass spanned the golf course before him, just as neat and manicured as the Bengali architecture of the Red Velvet country club itself. While the members’ pride in their club and their area’s unique cultural legacy could be overbearing, the result made him feel somewhat at home.
If it was such pride that encouraged them to donate to charitable causes such as his, then he could play their game…as much as he preferred cricket. Villu tensed then exhaled. The anticipation for this event had been dwelling on him for weeks, but this was not the place for doubt—this was the place where he could do good. He set aside thoughts of handshakes, small talk, and mocktails (he didn’t drink) and let the stress pass through him. It was just a charity event, one of countless that he had run.
“Pardon us, Mr. Vilduveta?” His eyes opened, and he turned to see a small crowd had gathered around him, bearing hardback books. “We didn’t mean to bother you, but we read your biography, and-”
“Oh, of course!” Villu had already pulled forth a pen and had begun signing. “If anything, I’m glad you didn’t ask me to write one!”
The crowd laughed good-naturedly along with him; for his introversive tendencies, Villu still could converse deftly, his tone gentle but more than able to keep up in wit and ease. Even if he did not care for his fame, he had to begrudgingly admit that garnering such attention made solicitation easier—being a conversation piece could open checkbooks.
One of them, an upstart holding a glass of wine, reached out and tugged on his sleeve. “The sections of your work in Myanmar were really inspiring!”
“O-oh?” Villu asked warily.
“It’s like Star Wars! You and your revolutionaries against the empire, the start of your political career—I can’t believe you and your author kept that to one chapter! And your wife, my deepest condolences, she sounded wonderfu-”
“Please.” There was a sharpness in Villu’s gaze that pressed against the donor’s neck, revealing the steel thorns beneath his pastel silk. The crowd had become tense at the mere word, but Villu’s expression soon softened, blunted into a pensive smile. “My…my work is in honor of her life; I would rather not relive her death.”
There was an uneasy silence over the group, until Villu dramatically shut the last book with a loud FHUMP! “But enough of that,” he beamed at them as they nearly jumped at the sudden noise. “No use staying out here, hmm?”
For a larger event, a certain David Jackson had decided to bust out his older wardrobe.
Part of the choice was to blend in. The well-to-do of Vasitanagarh were dressed in well tailored suits, slacks, and shawls for the Indian summer weather, and while his clothing wasn’t tailored for the situation, he seemed like he belonged well enough.
Luiviton had attended the spa that was hosting this charity—raising money for providing meals and shelters to the homeless, or something—and mentioned something about the fundraiser in the few times David had seen him before they had split. David managed to scrounge together enough money to pay for an entry ticket.
“You said that the Red Velvet club displays the work of Earthgang students?” David asked. “I’m something of an artist myself, you know.”
“Indeed, but we try to select artwork somewhat in line with the extant decor. The art college is occasionally more…eccentric for our tastes.” Maryam laughed sheepishly, standing beside Sara.
“I’ll say,” David pointed to a large vase, holding more of the assorted flowers that decorated the parlor, and indeed the region as a whole. A small circle of artisans and parents had formed to discuss the wares they sold to tourists and galleries alike. Generations of jewelers, watchmakers, and metal workers wore silver and gold that fit their station and profession. “Is that 19th century porcelain?”
“Indeed it is, Mr Jackson! You have quite an eye…”
Part of the choice in outfit was to feel normal. If he truly wanted comfort, he might have donned the white t-shirt, but the club patrons seemed to accept him and his talk of Rakin’s art and culture. Yet, as he laughed and kibitzed with the club members, he found himself zoning out, sipping from his glass until all that touched his tongue was melting ice. “Did you hear about that magistrate? The one involved with the Overcome Foundation?”
Despite the air conditioning and cool beverage, David felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple.
“Yeah, I heard about that scandal not too long ago.” With the recent exposee on the Foundation’s relationship with the Dead City Haunts’ racketeering, lines in the sand had been drawn as its members sought to escape public, social, and legal scrutiny. Small talk churned into gossip as anxiety churned in David’s stomach:
“He was at Sonasuyast when I visited!” “He seemed polite enough.” “To think I donated to them…” “He claimed that he was under duress, but I don’t know…”
“Mhmm,” Maryam tutted, shaking her head with disdain. “Someone always tries to abuse the system. At least they got rid of him.”
“…You think you know someone,” David added with an unsteady expression. With Maryam putting the final nail in the coffin, the topic passed and the group’s ire with it. Yet David retreated further into himself. Part of the choice in outfit was to provide cover, but the sharp tang of spite to Maryam’s voice that reminded him of the sword that hung over his head.
But he shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. All he had to do was play off his connections to Goldfinger and now Vasitanagarh. With its geometrically-tiled roads and urbane cafes and markets, this part of the city was clean, it was safe, and the more he ingratiated himself with this part of society, the less he would have to worry about a roof over his head and the more he could finally—
“Mr. Jackson!?”
He had jumped back, accidentally dropping his glass with a loud CRASH! Everyone looked at him with concern as he waved them off.
“Sorry, everyone; glass just slipped.” He raised his palms showing that he was uninjured. “Guess I’ve had one too many!” More good natured laughter as a janitor brought a broom to sweep aside the shards. As the commotion died down, David saw what had scared him in his paranoia:
A vase of purple flowers on a cocktail table as a conversation piece.
Attending this stuffy event wasn’t Ashok’s idea, but nowadays, what was? Those unseen chains were bound as tight as ever, tugging him this way and that. Suggestions traveled through them like impulses through nerves, sparking up his spine, rattling in his skull. But at least these whispers silenced the rumours swirling outside. Sulka’s strange behavior was starting to become the subject of the city’s constant gossip, and every mention of them was fraying Ashok’s nerves. If you couldn’t trust your own teammates, who could you trust?
Me, whispered the Puppet, as the message sparked across its chains. It had asserted that the situation with Sulka was unfolding as it should be, and that he should concern himself with other matters. Dutifully, Ashok followed this generous advice, and found himself a matter most concerning. Unlike many other Stand users, this Puppet was not the creation of his own spirit, but an external force that chose him after its last user had passed away.
The question clattering in Ashok’s mind was not the why, but the how. How had that last user perished? Was it natural? Was it foul play? Was it the Puppet’s meddling? Surely, with the how, the why would follow. That answer, that knowledge, it would be the key that would unlock these shackles. The key to controlling his own destiny–no, to control destiny itself.
That very key lay here, somewhere in this crowd of sentimental socialites. It was those sentiments that Ashok found appealing–an easy in, a means of taking the reins and steering them as he saw fit.
As was the case right now, as he hummed and hawed at some poor charity worker. All of it with a caring smile. It’s not as if that smile was fake, Ashok knew that this group was doing good work, it’s just that…
“...I’ve been rather concerned about some rumours I’ve been hearing lately,” he sighed, swirling the liquid in his glass, forming a miniature whirlpool. “You know how certain charities have been, such a large portion of their donations go to the administration, and their patrons are none the wiser. It leaves such a sour taste in my mouth–I like to think this group is different, after all, it’s such a good cause, but…” another sigh, leaving the thought unfinished. His eyes strayed from his whirlpool, watching the worker. They would be the one to complete the sentence, and with it, they would offer themselves up to him. As they should. After all, he was simply doing his due diligence.
The look on their face struck him with a pang of excitement. That was it. Ashok had wrapped his chain around their wrist, and now he would be the one to make them dance. These were the moments that he lived for, the moments where he knew he was alive. He was not some marionette–he pulled the strings. Let these people have their idle chatter, none of it mattered to him. None of it could compare to this. Finally, his bindings loosened. Finally, Ashok could breathe, and the air tasted so sweet.
But then a passing figure caught his eye, and for a moment, it felt like his lungs had filled with something viscous. Quickly he shook the sensation away, breaking away from the worker, no longer interested. This new figure was far more pressing: David Jackson, a member of the Overcome Foundation, an associate of that infested woman that Pluto had fought against. Their Foundation was corrupt, it was criminal—as much as Ashok could dislike the rumour mill, sometimes it gave him valuable intel.
Yet, the other attendees either didn’t know, or didn’t care, if they simply let this man walk amongst them. Surely, he should let someone know—otherwise this man’s crimes would go unpunished. But who would he tell? These people milling around didn’t seem to care, but- that’s it. Smiling to himself, Ashok decided on his play, and walked right up to David himself.
All the while, David was looking at a painting, though he wasn’t taking in the artwork. It was a good way to stare into the distance and get your bearings without seeming weird. However, it seemed this tactic wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped–someone was sidling up next to him. The other man was slight, though his eyes were bright and his smile was soft and pleasant. That being said, he was staring at David for several unbroken seconds, without saying anything.
“Ah?” David began, trying to recenter himself on the spot. “Hello there,” he smiled back, “here to admire the painting?”
“It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” the other man commented, still standing rather close to David. The man took a few seconds to stare into the artwork, before turning to David and extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet someone with similar taste, Mr…?”
David blinked. There was no reason to hesitate–it wasn’t as though he hadn’t introduced himself before, why should this be any different?
“Jackson,” he replied, “Mr. Jackson.”
Once again, the young man just stared at him, for long enough that David began to wonder if-
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” the stranger interjected, still offering his hand. David reached out to complete the gesture, trying to put himself at ease. The flowers made him jumpy, that was all.
“My name is Ashok.” A pause, as he withdrew his hand. “I hope I’m not being too forward, I was actually wondering if you were the artist of this piece.”
“This one? No, I was just admiring it.”
“I see!” Ashok responded, taking a sip from his glass. “I’m rather curious about its creator–I’ve heard you can tell a lot about an artist just through their work. If that’s true, then this collection certainly represents the character of our city!”
“Oh..?” David raised a brow, “how so?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ashok asked in return.
“Yeah, totally,” David trailed off, glancing around, looking for a theme. Before he could come up with one, Ashok simply chuckled and shook his head.
“Such a varied and eclectic collection represents a city so full of characters. Surely you’ve heard the gossip. We have so many interesting figures… there was that one older man, he runs a machine shop, what was his name…”
“How would I know-”
“Goldfinger, that’s it. Now there’s an interesting man–it seems like everyone fashions themselves king nowadays. But I heard he had the racket to support it.”
David swallowed, trying to keep a jovial air. The rumour mill kept spinning after all, that wasn’t so strange. Ashok himself was still smiling at him, his voice cheerful and light. As David remained silent, Ashok continued, “Maybe you haven’t heard of him. Oh, but you must know about that woman—she’s got a flower for an eye, can you believe that?”
David frowned a moment, sucking in a breath. “Wow. How strange.”
Ashok’s smile only seemed to glow brighter. He tapped on his chin, continuing on. “I know, right? Oh, get this- I heard that those two might even work together. It’s that foundation- everyone here keeps talking about it. It’s only natural, right? When you’re doing good work, you don’t want it dragged down by other people’s corruption.”
“For sure.” David quickly agreed, now finally glancing for an exit.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your time,” Ashok laughed, though he didn’t move away. “You must be quite busy, considering.”
“Considering what?” David asked, a little harsher than he intended.
Ashok grinned. For a moment, the air rattled with the clattering of chains. “Considering you’re on display tonight, David Jackson.”
David tried to unclench his jaw, uncurl his fingers. It wasn’t that difficult of an inference to make. But there was something about the way he said it.
“You know, you’re quite deep in the rumour mill,” David responded, trying to give the man a smirk of his own. “Maybe you should start minding your own business.”
The rattling grew more intense, a cold feeling curling around David’s limbs.
“Oh, but I have to be,” Ashok smiled, though the light in his eyes was as frigid as iron. “When there are criminals about, ruining my city.”
Surely, David thought, he could just surprise this willowy little man with his Stand and be done with it. But he would rather avoid such a needless scuffle, especially in front of this crowd. If anything, that was probably what this guy wanted. But David had a much better idea.
“Yeah, that’s rough,” he smiled, patting Ashok on the shoulder. “Hope they catch those guys. Anyways, I think the golf tournament’s starting–I’ve gotta go. See you around, enjoy the art!”
Then, just like that, he was gone. Ashok stared after him, perfectly still…before his body began to rattle. Damn it. He was so close- if David had just been caught off guard enough, if he had tried to make a move against Ashok, it would have raised suspicions against him. But the truth was, right now these people liked him too much–and so they remained ignorant, some of them willfully so. David knew he had the opportunity to simple disengage, and blend in with the crowd.
[There goes your single opportunity to gain your answers.]
The whisper grasped his shaking form, and made him still. No, no, that couldn’t be right. Ashok still had a chance–he could still corner this criminal, and this time there would be no chance of escape.
As Ashok strode out to the green, the sun shone down upon him, illuminating the manicured course that wound across the island.
David caught his eye, golf club slung over his shoulder, and this time he was the one to shoot Ashok a grin.
“Hey, there you are. Tell you what,” he offered. “We’re at a charity event, we’re both donors…we should do as the Romans do. Half these people’s deals are decided on the green. Come play a round with me. If you win, we’ll talk. If you lose…you finally start minding your own business.”
Ashok picked up a club, admiring it for a moment. This man thought he was in a position to set the terms? Fine then. Once Ashok one, once they had their talk, he would make sure the chains of fate found their way round David’s neck.
“Sounds wonderful.
“Open the Game!”
Location: This particular round of golf will span across three different holes, Hole 4, Hole 13, and Hole 15. Each hole will have two maps provided - one for the entire overview of the hole and one for a topographical view of the putting green. Each map consists of 5x5 meter tiles.
General Map Key:

• Lightest Green: The putting green area, which has a Yellow Circle denoting that the hole is in the center of that tile. A 2.5 meter tall flag will be sticking out of the hole. The grass here is 4mm tall. For the topographical views, there is an inch difference between each colored ring, with RED (or the ring with intersecting lines in it) being the highest elevation and BLUE/PURPLE (or the ring with circles intersecting it) being the lowest.
  
• Light Green: The fairway, which has differing levels of elevation across them (no map for this as precision here isn’t as important here as it is on the green). The grass here is 15mm tall. The section of fairway with the red triangle is the tee-off position, and players will drive their first shots from here.
  
• Green: The rough, which are areas of tall grass that the golf ball will not bounce off of very well. The grass here ranges from 1-2 inches tall. For the sake of simplicity, there is no “semi-rough” area depicted on the maps.
  
• Darkest Green: Forested areas with rough dirt/root terrain that make it very difficult to hit the ball out of. The trees are also tall enough that “driving the ball” over them will also pose a significant challenge.
  
• Light Tan/White: Sand bunkers, these are concave pits of sand that are very difficult to hit golf balls out of.
  
• Light Gray: Golf cart paths that are made of chunky gravel, individual gravel pieces are about golf-ball-sized.
  
• Translucent Red Circle: A “safety” area for where your first shot can land, see Match Info below for more details.
  

Hole 4:

• Topographical Map
  
• PAR 3
  

Hole 13:

• Topographical Map
  
• PAR 4
  
• Blue: Water hazards, should the golf ball sink into them, that is considered a penalty and will add 1 to your score for this hole. The terrain around the water gently slopes into it.
  
• Brown: Bridges, golf balls are not allowed to be hit from these, they’re just there for players to walk across.
  

Hole 15:

• Topographical Map
  
• PAR 5
  
• Dark Gray: Large rocks jutting out from the earth, ranging from 4-5 meters tall. The tops of these are not flat surfaces, so the ball will not rest on top of them.
  

Goal: Out golf your opponent!
There are two major parts to each of the three holes: Driving to get the ball as near to the hole as possible and Putting to get the ball in.
Driving in a team golf game means that several people hit the ball, with the closest hit being chosen for the Putting section. As both players will be monopolizing the Putting, their teammates only matter insofar as they’ll have a minimum floor on each map: each map has a red zone where players may choose to take their second shot from in the event their first is greatly sabotaged. Note that players can get much closer to the hole than this “fallback” option; it exists so that players won’t fall too far behind for the Putting phase.
Putting is more complex, since both characters will be able to better utilize their Stands on the comparatively smaller scale.
Physical combat between players is not allowed, but other subtle interference is. Terrain manipulation, affecting the opponent, and other Stand use is all on the table, as there are no Stand users currently watching the game. However, keep in mind that all Stand use must be deniable. More egregious sabotage will be increasingly held as foul play, reducing its efficacy, and outright breaking the laws of causality in a way that can’t be explained by skill will cause a loss as everyone around is too busy trying to figure out why and how you’re cheating to be impressed at your skills. Keep in mind that directly affecting players is somewhat risky, so terrain or NPCs may be more reliable.
The winner for this match will be determined by whoever obtains the lowest golf score. Each hole has a “Par”, which is the target amount of strokes it should take to get the ball in the hole. Matching this Par equals 0 Points, with each stroke below this being “-1” point and each stroke above being “+1” point. Holes-in-one are not possible in this match, this ain’t mini golf.
Additional Information:
All right, so we got two different “meta-ability/meta-skill” lads in this match so get ready for a big info dump.
Ashok:

｢Puppet Loosely Strung｣ Mandates

• The target may not move closer toward the portal.
  
• The target must move closer to the portal. (mutually exclusive with the above Mandate)
  
• The target may not move faster than D Speed.
  
• The target must reverse their current direction. (Does nothing if target is not moving, Mandate chain will disappear)
  
• The target must avert their eyes from their golf ball.
  
• The target cannot be submerged in water.
  
• The target must spin around.
  

Ashok’s “Stand Memory” Skills

• Governess 4: This former user had to play a lot of croquet in their time, which for this match roughly equates to a “Golfing 2” skill. This also aids Ashok in staying composed in the face of childish absurdity.
  
• Textiles 4: Grants Ashok knowledge of cloth-related things, as well as a deep understanding of “texture” and an eye for detail. This will help them identify what the current texture of objects or terrain is and will better aid them in determining minor elevation differences on the putting green.
  

David:

David’s “One Step Ahead” Advantages

• Golfing 3 Skill
  
• About 1 kilogram of modeling clay in his backpack
  
• A 1.5 liter thermos full of Goo taken from Jyotsna’s ｢DICTATOR｣
  

｢The Fine Print｣ x	Special Goo Description
｢Puppet Loosely Strung｣	A “Stand material” chain can form between two applied instances of this Goo, this cannot be seen by non Stand-Users. David can extract up to 5 liters of this at once.
｢DICTATOR｣	Objects infused with this Goo turn white. David is limited to the 1.5 liters he brought with him. Borrowed from Jyotsna Mathur.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Heart of the Rose	R.K. Viswanathan Ashok	“You can’t say I didn’t warn you. Calamity will come.” You need to exert control over the situation—your kind of control, not that of some puppet. Be stylish in your golfing and your sabotage!
Dead City Haunts	David Jackson	“Yeah? Well I got these sneakers at an outlet for 7980 yen.” You’ve been the life of the party since you got here, and you’re gonna prove it out on the green. Be stylish in your golfing and your sabotage!

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!

As always, thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the wonderful universe!
First
Previous
Memory Transcription Subject: Tillsi, Dossur Podcaster
Date [standardized human time]: March 3, 2137
I’m not sure what I expected when we walked inside the restaurant, me once again riding on Devin’s shoulder, but a small, divided waiting area with two doors was not it. Well, maybe not a ‘waiting’ area, considering the lack of seats. Then my eyes caught the sight of Venscript of all things on the wall between the doors below some human script. ‘Vegan and Vegan Alien guests to the left, all others to the right’. Devin turned to the left and walked through, and I found myself… somewhat underwhelmed, and disappointed.
I could see that the entire area past the doors was once a single large dining area, but a wall of thick plastic divided the two areas, with maybe only 20% of the restaurant being the ‘vegan’ side. There were a few groups of humans on this side, but more than half the seats were empty. I could see vague shapes through the plastic, and my heart seized for a second when I realized that not all of the shadows were human shadows. Devin must have heard me squeak, and after a second of peering where I was looking he stiffened under me as well. His hand came up under me, as if afraid I would run. Not that it wasn’t a compelling idea, but not on Earth! He spoke up quickly.
“Tillsi, don’t freak out, please! I thought you knew there were arxur refugees here? They’ve all passed empathy tests and have been vetted by the UN. They’re not going to eat you, or Hezlin, or me, or any pets, or anything!” I could see the muscles under his skin tighten as his fist closed, a few ‘pops’ ringing out. “I fought the arxur. I’ve seen what they do. These aren’t those arxur, Tillsi.” He turned to look me directly in my eye, or close enough without his chin knocking me off my ‘seat’. “We can leave if you want to, but I assure you, you're safe here.” I took a deep, shuddering breath as I shook my head.
“No, no, it’s fine I guess… I mean, it’s not, but I guess… I’ll have to get used to seeing them, won’t I? He nodded at me, eyes brightening a bit as I forced myself to remain calm.
“I wouldn’t say they’re common, but Florida seems to agree with Arxur a lot… and from what I hear a lot of arxur, a lot of kids, and their parents if they weren't shitheads, stowed away on our supply transports… Anyways, they aren’t a threat! Want to see where they prepare the food?”
I shook myself a bit, trying to clear the thoughts of being devoured, whole and alive, out of my head. I followed his gaze towards the back and saw a large rectangular device with various depressions, all filled with what looked like burnt vegetables, with a door on the wall behind it. As we got closer a staff member stepped out of the back, and upon seeing us walking towards him, immediately headed back inside. Devin chuckled to himself and I swatted his shoulder with my tail. He looked over and smiled at me.
“He’s seen me and Hezlin before, so I get the feeling he’s about to-ah, there he is.” The younger man had returned, smiling wide as he held the door open.
“Heya, want to check out the prep area, right?” I couldn’t help but notice how at ease he seemed with aliens. Not that I expected fear, or hunger, but at the very least I expected curiosity, but no. He looked at us the same way he looked at Devin, just another person. I felt like I was seeing a small slice of the future, then. A human so desensitized to alien interaction that we were ordinary, even the tiny dossur.
Devin nodded under me and I squeaked out a positive. We strode through the door, and immediately the feeling of heat hit me. I noticed another large rectangular device in the back, this one with rows of evenly spaced metal rods crisscrossing the top, and I could see the waves of heat wafting up out of it. The employee turned back towards me, making a sweeping gesture around him. Overall it was a small room, just large enough for the large rectangle, a large and small sink, one of the strange ‘oven/stove’ combinations I had heard of, and a large ‘walk-in refrigerator’. The employee turned to smile at us as his arm took in the tiny room.
“It’s a bit small, but we keep all of our produce we use on this side separate from the meat side, and that grill-” he pointed at the large rectangle, “has never cooked anything other than vegetables and fruit. So no worries about cross-contamination, since there’s nothing to cross! Whoever works over here does it for the whole day, and doesn’t move to the meat side, just in case.” He turned to look directly at Devin, a sly look on his face. “A raw platter?” Devin grinned at the man.
“Yeah, a tiny one please. I’ll go sit down, grab us some drinks. Thanks!” The younger man waved off the thanks as he started pulling various vegetables out of the refrigerator. Next to the door was a small drink vending station, and Devin quickly poured two dark, fizzy drinks for him and Hezlin. He then turned to look at me, eyebrow quirked. I glared at his stare.
“What?” He smiled at me.
“Do you trust my sense of taste?” I shook my head, ignoring the fake dismay on his face.
“I don’t know about that. I trust you, but your taste buds?” He gave a tiny groan and I chittered to myself. “Just give me what you think I would like, I’ll try it.” He poured one more small drink, a bright-yellow liquid whose scent made my whiskers twitch with its intensity. He led us to a small table near the entrance and placed our drinks down. As Hezlin scrambled into a seat Devin carefully held a hand up to his shoulder, and I leapt down from there to the table. He crouched to look Hezlin, and I guess me, in the eye.
“So, I’m going to grab my order on the other side. You be a good boy and listen to Miss Tillsi.” He turned to look at me a bit more directly. “I’ll be right back, but Hezlin can’t go on that side.” He paused as I squeaked and raised a paw.
“Can I come with you? Dossur don’t have the Cure, so I’ll be fine.” His eyes got wide in shock before he frowned.
“I mean, no you don’t, but you realize the entire other side is mostly meat, right? With arxur?” I nodded firmly and he gave a shake of his head. “Okay, well, fine. Your audience probably won’t appreciate it.” I shook my head as I jumped back on his hand.
“I mean, their the ones watching, they know what's going on.” He crouched a bit as he told Hezlin to wait right there, and then we were gone. As Devin moved through the doors I tried to brace myself as I rode on Devin'’s shoulder, but the second we walked into the ‘meat’ side my nose began twitching violently. That smell! Then I saw the arxur.
Two arxur sat at a table, plates piled high with nearly-raw meats in front of them. They had paused, forks and knives (since when do arxur use utensils!) paused in midair as they saw me. Before my fear chemicals even had a chance to get going, though, I saw their heads duck down, eyes moving away from me. Was that… Was that shame? What?
I didn’t get a chance to ask, or look further, as Devin crossed the room towards the back. On this side there was a whole station set up for payments, and as Devin walked up and began to order I took the chance to glance over. On the other side there had been platters full of a variety of burnt vegetables. Over here?
Meat. Meat of so many different varieties I couldn’t even begin to understand what I was looking at. Long meat sticks, round meat in sauce, round meat without sauce, meat with bones still in it! Meat with bones with a crispy, non-meat crust, others with no crust, and the number of piles of meat available, stars! Behind a plastic shield of some sort a human sawed at a piece of meat as big as her torso, tiny slivers of meat falling away. I felt my stomach churn, but I held it in. The smell helped, though… It smelled so… not good, but definitely not bad! Why?
I had missed Devin’s order and payment, so when he simply grabbed a plate and began walking down the line of platters I squeaked in surprise. He glanced at me briefly, but I just tried to nod at him. He spoke up as he reached for a pair of tongs.
“I know this must not be easy to see, but remember, nothing here ever lived. Now, would you like to know what you're looking at, or is ignorance bliss?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that, despite how poofed my fur was. And how tight my muscles felt.
“I-I guess? Why not? Enlighten us, oh wise pred-omnivore. W-What are you going to be e-eating?” I couldn’t help how tense my voice was, but apparently Devin picked up on the fact I was trying, because he only smiled gently as he levered the sauced round meat out of the tray with a spatula.
“This is a salisbury steak, basically just ground beef that has been cooked with a sauce on it… This is a breaded and fried chicken wing… a half-rack of ribs… and a baked potato.” I was feeling a bit queasy towards the end, as Devin’s plate threatened to weigh nearly as much as I did. That potato, though… I pointed at it with my tail and he grinned.
“I don’t eat meat at home, so this is more of a treat for myself, but if I eat nothing but pure meat I’m just going to want to take a nap. Plus, meat and potatoes used to be kind of a staple. Well, meat, potatoes, and something green. This is me treating myself, though.” I twitched as he added some ‘butter’ to the potato and he glanced over. “Butter comes from milk, so if the cows aren’t happy, we don't get butter these days. It’s harmless. I bet you could eat it, too.” I froze up at that momentarily before slapping his shoulder.
“That’s not funny! Who drinks milk? Eats secretions?” He chuckled as we moved back through the entrance towards the veggie side.
“Every mammal drinks their mothers milk. We just needed another source of food at some point, I guess, and from there, you know…” We sat back down at the table, Devin helping me slide off, before the employee from earlier came over, a small plate in hand. He nodded at me as he carefully sat it down in front of me. It was full of tiny little pieces of fruits and vegetables, along with a similar portion next to them that had been ‘charred’. He smiled as I looked up at him.
“Most aliens who come here haven't eaten our food, or haven't eaten it cooked, so here's a sample platter. Even for us humans, some people don't like carrots, or they hate raw carrots, or cooked ones. This way you get to try everything out beforehand!” He looked positively delighted with himself, and why shouldn’t he? I could feel my tail swishing behind me as I looked up at him.
“Thank you! If there was one vegetable you’d recommend raw and, uhh, ‘charred’, what would it be?” He and Devin both grinned at my wording. The employee reached over, pointing at a piece of orange vegetable.
“Well, my example probably. Carrots are a love it or hate it type thing, but I get the feeling most people enjoy them. There’s bell peppers, some people don’t like the green ones… I gave you some raw zucchini to try, but most humans prefer them cooked… I’ll be honest with you, we don’t grill a lot of our vegetables here, it’s more a meat thing,” I was proud of myself for not flinching, “but we also bake a few dishes… Actually, would you like me to make something for you?” The look in his eyes was somewhat challenging, but he didn’t seem to be mad, so I would ignore it.
“Ah, sure, I guess? I’ll trust your taste buds. Right?” I glanced around, but only the server met my eyes as he squeezed out a yes before ducking back behind the doors. I looked over at Devin, but he only grinned at me. A quick glance at Hezlin showed me the same response: amused, and waiting for something. I flicked my tail behind myself rapidly a few times as Hezlin stood up with his empty plate. I expected Devin to follow him, help him choose his dishes or something, but Devin simply watched as he walked across the room towards the ‘heating station’.
I tore my gaze away from Hezlin momentarily as Devin twisted his head to look at me. Those large orbs should have sent me running, according to the Federation… however, the only thing I picked up from them was worry.
“Tillsi are you, and I guess your audience, going to be… okay with this?” He gestured towards his meat-leaden plate. “I mean, this is meat. I’m not ashamed to eat it, but are you going to be able to handle it?” I chittered a bit as I reached for an un-burnt ‘carrot’ from my sample plate.
“I think if I was going to run away, or my audience was, it would have already happened.” I took a large bite out of the chunk of raw ‘carrot’, and as I began to grind it down my expression brightened. “Wow, this is good!” I reached for the piece of charred- I mean, grilled carrot. It was so much softer, and the burnt taste that was added? I found my tail wagging to the extreme as I devoured the round piece of grilled carrot, Devin looking on with an amused expression. Hezlin was absorbed in his own mound of grilled vegetables, but before I could get a good look at them I followed Devin’s finger downwards as he pointed out various vegetables and fruits to me.
“That cook likes to start with the fruits, so here’s what they have here. Honeydew apple, pineapple, anjou pears, and some watermelon, that's actually a nice little platter…” I hoped my audience caught the hungry look Devin threw at my plate of fruit. I knew he wasn’t a bloodthirsty monster, and hopefully most of my audience didn’t, either, but still! The sight of a human almost visibly salivating over fruit was good optics. He pointed to the lower portions.
“There's a carrot, which it looks like you enjoy? I love them raw or cooked, but the best way to eat them is boiled in orange juice… it’s more of a dessert at that point, but is so good!” His face lit up and I couldn’t help but wonder how that would taste. We had bought a few oranges, but we couldn’t exactly stop at every stall to get a sample, right? So I had no idea what flavorful secrets the strange, color-named fruits contained. His face settled a bit as his finger moved.
“There’s zucchini, most people don’t like them raw unless they're thinly shredded, but cooked? Not my favorite veggie, but I still enjoy them… There’s some kale, it's a leafy veggie thats really good for you, and personally I love it a bit charred and wilted to balance out the bitterness if I’m just eating kale instead of putting it in something…eggplant. I don’t know anyone that eats it raw, but eggplant is a decent, uhh… not meat replacement, but it's thick and tough enough that vegans use it for their main dish, if you will… uhh…” He looked extremely flustered before his finger pointed towards the last pieces. “Those are red and green bell peppers, raw they’re used on sandwiches and some salads, but cooked? Well, they fit into so many categories when you add to them… You can use them in a lot of savory dishes.” I leapt on that, my tail thumping behind me.
“So is savory the flavor I got from the, uhh, grilled carrot?” He frowned a bit in thought as he nodded.
“I guess so? I’ve never tried to identify the flavor profile of ‘savory’... I mean, I get mostly meat but there's a few veggies I would call savory… Mushrooms for sure… Meat is always kind of savory, unless you overcook it-” He paused at the look of confusion on my face (and my ears).
“Regardless of what type it is, meat is usually going to be denser than vegetables… and because it’s so dense, we have to chew it for a long time. Remember-” He smiled widely, teeth on display “-we don’t really have sharp teeth, and we chew with our flat molars mostly. We get a lot more of the flavor than you would from vegetables.” He pulled on a pair of disposable gloves he had taken from the entrance earlier and grabbed the ‘fried chicken’ before taking a large bite out of it, sharp(ish) front teeth flashing as they cut straight through the flesh, right alongside the bone... I noticed that while I still flinched, Hezlin had merely glanced up momentarily.
I couldn’t help but notice the look of pleasure that erupted across Devin’s face as he chewed, the way his shoulders relaxed a tiny bit, the way his eyes closed as he chewed. Which was for longer than I had been expecting, but he had just told me why, hadn’t he? His eyes met mine and I saw a slight ‘smirk’ slash across his mouth before he continued to eat his meat... I shook myself a bit as I turned my attention back to my plate. Time to explore!
Halfway through the meal, right as I neared the end of my sample platter, the employee from earlier returned, keeping a dish out of my sight as he smiled down at me.
“Like I said earlier, we don’t grill a lot of vegetables, not as much as meat, but we do cook with them a lot! Grilling vegetables isn’t the most, ah, expressive way to bring out the flavor. So!” He put the plate down near me with a flourish. “These are mini sweet peppers stuffed with couscous, black beans, diced tomatoes, green onions, and some spices. We do the same dish with bell peppers, which are usually the size of a human fist, but I thought this might be a bit easier for you to eat.” His smile was wide, and I found myself somewhat touched that he had made a single dish just for me.
Four tiny halves of a hollowed-out, stuffed ‘pepper’ sat there, two yellow and two bright orange. The smell coming from the warmly-colored filling, though! My tail went rigid as my nose twitched wildly. I heard a chuckle from Devin, but I ignored him for the moment, turning to fully take in the employee.
“Thank you so much, you didn’t have to do all that for me! It smells amazing though!” He grinned at my enthusiasm, a blush creeping up his neck, before being called away to another table. I didn’t hesitate another second as my paws snatched up one of the bright orange pieces. Which I then immediately dropped, as the heat was simply too much for me. I looked up to see both Devin and Hezlin grinning at me. I playfully glared at them a bit.
“I’ve never eaten food that was still hot! Warm yes, not hot!” I carefully grabbed the piece again, blowing on the end for a good while before I dared to take a bite. It was still hot, but by the stars! I couldn’t stop the absolutely juvenile squeal that erupted from me, but I barely noticed as I chewed. The pepper was sweet, the ‘couscous’ and its fillings were so flavorful! I hadn’t exactly had a poor, limited diet before. I had eaten exotic spices from many different worlds. The spicy, tangy, sweet, savory taste that filled my mouth, though? That level of complexity?
Never.
I barely noticed myself ravenously devouring the rest of the pepper, and then the next one. On my third piece I paused. The yellow was less sweet, but almost tangy? That wasn’t quite right, though… The rest of the stuffed peppers disappeared quickly and I groaned heavily. I was full, oh so full, but I wanted to eat more! I looked up to see Hezlin back at the ‘buffet’, Devin tearing tiny pieces of sauced meat off small bones. He smiled at me, which was a bit disconcerting with his mouth dirty like that, and gestured towards my untouched drink. He swallowed heavily before speaking.
“You’re gonna regret it if you don’t have any fresh lemonade. They make it here daily.” I was thirsty, actually. Most of the Federation didn’t use that much salt in their cooking. Not that I was complaining! The results spoke for themselves louder than I could ever yell. My tongue still felt like it was in shock, a shock which only deepened as a sweet, tangy liquid assaulted it. Within moments the lingering taste of the meal was gone, replaced by a sourness that almost made me pucker my lips up. Devin was grinning at me again, only half of the ‘baked potato’ left on his plate.
“I can only assume that means it’s delicious?” I nodded eagerly.
“The grilled vegetables were good, most of them, but he was right, it was all very plain with no sauces. Those stuffed peppers, though! That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life! The drink is delicious, too! My mouth almost wants to pucker from the sourness, but the sweetness is so intense it mellows it out!” I found my eyes drifting towards Devin’s potato briefly, but eww, no butter, no thank you.
Hezlin returned, awkwardly carrying three small bowls mostly filled with some sort of solid mass. He placed them on the table between our seats (not that I was using mine, but still) before turning his face up towards me with a wide smile. A smile that, as odd as it was to see on a gojid, warmed my heart.
“Miss Tillsi, I got us some icecream! I know you haven't had any before so I got some of each. This one is chocolate, this one is vanilla, and this is strawberry! That one’s the best here!” His enthusiasm was infectious, so even as my chat pinged at me I was smiling, grabbing the small (but still huge) spoon he handed me. I glanced over at my chat for the first time in a while and froze. I looked over at Devin uncertainly, but he just chuckled.
“It’s made from oats, a type of grain. They make a milk substitute out of oat that I actually really like, but for this? Don’t worry. The whole point of this being partitioned off-” his arm swept in a gesture, taking in the long sheet of plastic “-is that there is only vegan stuff over here. There's real ice cream over there, but I’m not picky.” He pointed towards the small bowls. “Go ahead and try them all, I’ll have what you two don’t eat. I need to go wash off a bit.” He pulled his gloves off and stood, carrying his plate as he made his way back to the other side, and presumably the bathroom.
I took the chance to glance at my chat. Recent polls showed that most of my stream hadn’t enjoyed seeing arxur, or that much meat, or anything over there. Devin had dropped in popularity a bit after being shown eating a bunch of meat, but Hezlin was currently, according to my chat, the cutest pup in the galaxy. His eagerness to show off his favorite foods was endearing. Speaking of…
At Hezlin’s urging I took a small bite from the ‘vanilla’ bowl, my entire coat poofing out from the intense, unexpected chill. Then the flavor hit my tongue, and I couldn’t hold in a moan of enjoyment. I bloomed heavily under my fur, but quickly took a bite from the others. The strawberry was good, but stars, the chocolate! I quickly began to devour the bowl, Hezlin grabbing the strawberry one. Hezlin had already gone for a second bowl of strawberry by the time Devin got back, dropping into his chair with a dull thud. He quickly grabbed the remaining bowl and spoon, and in mere moments had practically inhaled the ‘vanilla’. I stared at him in shock over the melted remains of mine as he smiled eyes wide and innocent.
“What?” I shook my head at the childish expression on his face. As Hezlin slid into his seat Devin raised one of his eyebrows as he looked at me.
“Enjoy some cheap Earth food?”
I finally cut the stream as we got back into the car, a long, apparently boring drive ahead of us according to Devin. Hezlin fell asleep almost as soon as he was strapped into his car seat, light squeaks coming from the back seat. As the van pulled out and I settled into my crash bulb I asked a question that had been on my mind for awhile.
“Devin, do you know what a dilf is?”

TA Major George Carpenter looked up from the paperwork on his desk at the knock. Trooper Captain Shaurya Babu's hand was still by the doorframe, and he looked in through the other door, "You ready, George?"
The Major pushed back his chair and stood, straightening out his uniform, and closing the file of paperwork on his desk, "The real question, Shaurya, is are you ready? I've met him before, but this is going to be something else for you. And it's not like it's a simple social call." He shook his head and reached for his sleek officer's Cap as he made his way around the desk to the doorway.
The Captain backed away to let the Major out, then fell in step with him as they walked down the corridor lined with military offices. "So, is that why I had to requisition this?" He holds up a clear two liter bottle of a golden liquid. "I'd never even heard of the stuff before yesterday."
The Major grinned and shook his head, "No, that's standard procedure." They turned the corner and headed toward the elevator doors at the end of this corridor. "I assume that holding your liquor was part of your training?" Combining the armed forces had been a good thing for everyone, but Navy men and Cap Troopers still had their own service rivalries.
"Aye, sir. I'm proficient in the use of." Shaurya chuckled, "Though not really in quantity since OCS, admittedly. Why?"
The Major chuckled as they strode toward the elevator doors, "Because we have to drink with him."
The sound of hurried footsteps came from behind the two officers, and a short, grey-scaled biped rushed around the corner. Its dark grey uniform was asymmetrically double breasted, but managed to look disheveled, as its bright silver buttons hadn't been used yet, and the flap was hanging loose. "Ah! You here! Missed you thought self!" The raspy voice comes from a mouth of sharp round teeth in a long muzzle.
The Major turned and looked back, "Lieutenant. I was afraid you'd decided not to join us." He looks to the Shaurya, "Captain Babu, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Karrk. Well, that's the equivalent of his rank in the Havork Forceuse Group, and it's easier to pronounce." The Major looks back to the scaled being, who was hurrying along and working with the three fingers of each hand to button its jacket closed.
The Captain nodded to the approaching Havorkon, "A pleasure. And call me Shaurya. As I understand it, this is going to be an odd mix of formal and informal."
The short, grey-scaled being displayed its empty palms toward the Captain in a welcoming gesture, "Pleasure mine. Karrk self." He looked with his four grey eyes to the Major, "Thought change no. Time bad. Paperwork bad."
"Well, I can certainly identify with that." George nodded and reached out to the biometric sensor that scanned his hand and opened the elevator doors.
-=-=-=-=-=-
The secure elevator stopped and let the three beings out into a room of stone pillars and fine brick walls, with a wooden ceiling that vaulted in the center, huge round wooden beams from opposite walls meeting a crossbeam in the center that felt like it was the peak of a roof. Set in the brick walls were wide windows that have no glass, through which a mild breeze blew through the room, while outside the view of the light blue, hazy skies can be seen, as if the room was atop a high mountain.
In the center of the room, surrounded by wooden benches, was an open fire inside a ring of blackened stones. A black iron tripod supported a large, steaming cauldron. A nearby set of heavy, wooden pillars rose to the peak of the roof, supporting the main roof beam on either side of a circular opening that let the smoke from the fire out.
The Captain blinked and looked at the rustic setting, deep under a modern military base. With windows? He shook his head.
The Havorkon didn't seem surprised. Granted, he hadn't seen much of the Terran areas of the Coalition of Worlds, but one thing he did know was that the Terrans did all kinds of illogical things. The best way to deal with it was to just accept it all. And no Havorkon had ever been privy to a situation like this. If not for the war, maybe they never would have been allowed.
The Major was obviously prepared for the setting, and smiled. His voice was quiet as he spoke to those near him, "Welcome to Bilskirnir, gentlemen." Then, in a louder voice he called, "Hail! Friends request entrance to this fine household! May we have leave to enter?"
Surprise registered on the Captain's face, and the Havorkon shrank back slightly into a crouch, each of its four eyes looking in a different direction. The room was empty, other than themselves, and the Major's words echoed back to them.
"My hall is always open to friends who cross the bifrost bridge to visit. I welcome you, George. Come forth and introduce your companions!" The voice that came from the air boomed throughout the large room, strong and rich and friendly.
The Major grinned slightly, but it slipped from his face quickly. Under other circumstances, this could be fun, but not today. "I bring with me a proud warrior, strong and swift of arm, who leads men like himself in battle. His name is Shaurya, and he ranks as a Captain." He indicated the Cap Trooper, who stood a little straighter at the Major's manner of introduction.
The Major continued, "And from far off Havork, I bring a warrior of a different type, one whose battlefield is that of the runes that code our machines. He is on the continual search for knowledge to hone his skills to bring victory at a distance, without unnecessary loss of life for his weapon-mates. His name is Karrk, and, in our terms, he ranks as a Lieutenant." And here, he indicated the cowering grey being in the grey uniform.
"I bid you welcome, warriors Shaurya and Karrk. Come, sit you by the fire, and be at your ease." The obviously male, booming voice still held a friendly tone. In the center of the room, the fire got a bit bigger, and emitted sparks as if being stoked by an unseen hand. On one of the central pillars, a dinner plate sized circular display panel of flowing blues and greens rotated around from facing the fire to face toward the elevator entrance.
The Major gestured for the others to follow him toward the wooden benches, and strode forward, "My Lord, we have brought some of the mead brewed by the masters of the jungle lands of Ryzoane. They attest that it is of the finest honey, from the richest flow of the year." He looked over to the Captain and nodded.
Shaurya, walking along with the Major, raised the bottle of golden liquid so that light caught and shone through it. As the Major reached toward the bottle, the Captain handed it over and his relief at someone else taking care of it was obvious.
"Ah, a fine offering, George! Of course you will join me in enjoying it." The voice was warm. Rich and warm. And still it echoed around the room. From an unseen alcove in a far wall, a golden tea trolley rolled on its own toward the fire. On its top, one large and three smaller golden drinking horns rested. On the wooden pillar, the display slowly tracked to continue facing the Terrans.
Karrk still waited near the elevator doors in a semi-crouch. As the Terrans got further and further away from him, his eyes scanned the room more frantically. Finally, when the Terrans were nearly at the benches, he skittered forward to follow, obviously taking a wary, defensive approach to this highly odd situation.
The display on the pillar swiveled again to follow the erratic movements of the Havorkon, extra blue tendrils coloring the green patches. The rich voice chuckled, and offered in a friendly manner, "Easy now, friend Karrk. My hall is safely defended, and there is no need for fear."
The grey scales of the Havorkon rippled as he swung his head, his eyes rolling wildly as he searched the room. "Speaks who? Where from?" His skittering ended in that semi-crouch from before, near where the Terran Captain was settling in on a bench.
The Major strode toward the far pillar where the trolley slowly came to rest. George turned to face the cowering grey being, and started to work on opening the seals on the bottle."Karrk, allow me to introduce our generous host. You are now in the hall of the god Thor, known as 'The Thunder Hurler,' 'The Terrible', 'The One Who Walks Alone,' and the 'Fierce Soul' among other names. He aids us now from his home as he awaits the battle that will bring the end of the universe."
The Havorkon’s four eyes widened at this news, “A being celestial? Universe terminus forceuse?”
The Major chuckled and shook his head, “So far as we know, it’s not immanent…” He filled the larger horn with the golden liquid and carried it to the pillar with the display, where a couple slots opened in the wooden surface and steel rings slid out to make a sort of holder. As the Major slid the horn into the holder and walked back to the trolley, he continued, “… and besides, we should all have something to drink before we get to serious talking.”
-=-=-=-=-=-
The Major wiped the trickles of mead from his mouth as he lowered the horn from his lips. “Unfortunately, my Lord, this is more than a social call. We came to ask your thoughts and guidance on some of the plans we are proposing for the assault on the Drasalite Empire. While their fleets still outnumber ours, they aren’t the brightest thinkers.”
The rich voice answered with a hint of humor, “Come now, George. You know that I am not so much of a tactician, you want Horus; he’s the master of strategy while I’m much better at the direct confrontation, and just a bit of trickery.”
The Captain couldn’t stop himself, the deep droughts of mead being more potent than he had expected. His voice held a tone of incredulity as he choked out, “He doesn’t know?”
The rich voice took on a hard tone as it demanded in a loud voice, “What don’t I know?”
The Havorkon cowered on his bench, the drinking horn clutched tightly in both hands.
The Major sighed, and collected himself before answering, “My Lord… Horus sacrificed his existence to protect the inhabitants of New India. His actions stopped an invasion group, but at an obviously unsustainable cost.”
There was a long pause during which the biological beings looked at each other uncertainly. Finally, the Captain stood and raised his drinking horn, “I drink to Horus. I salute a brave warrior who fought to protect innocents. Hail Warrior!”
The Major leapt to his feet and raised his horn as well, “I’ll drink to that!”
The Lieutenant looked between the two standing Terrans, confusion obvious on his face, the fur along his muzzle twitching. Undertaking the time-honored method of dealing with Terran oddities, he sought to follow suit as best he could. He got to his feet, his scales flexing, then held his own horn high, sloshing a little of the mead over his grey fingers. His voice was firm as he spoke a Standard translation of the traditional words to recognize a Havorkon hero, “Recognize honor one, standing with them.”
The rich voice came back, the words it spoke almost gutteral, “ᚢᚴᛚᚼᛅᛚᛚᛅ ᚢᛁᛚᚢᛘᚢᛏ ᛁᚢᚾᛁ ᚢᛅᚱᛁᛅᚱᛅᚢ.”¹
The two Terrans brought their horns to their lips and drank, the Havorkon followed suit, carefully working the horn to his muzzle. In its holder on the pillar, the large golden horn let out a gurgle.
The Major stepped over to refill the large golden horn, speaking as the golden liquid flowed. “So, my Lord, you can see that we need your input. Guanyin will not do more than defend her hospital-station, and has no interest in long-range strategies, and Ogou is, not surprisingly, is enraged and merely wishes to be unleashed upon the Drasalites and their allies.” He raised the bottle toward the others, in offer of a refill.
The Captain reached his drinking horn toward the Major, and got more of the potent liquid for himself.
The rich voice spoke once again, “What of Huītzilōpōchtli? He should be capable of strategic thinking…”
The Major glanced sidelong at the Havorkon and cleared his throat before answering. “My Lord, Huītzilōpōchtli is still being contained. He refuses to cooperate with the Terran Astromilitary until he receives some requisite number of sacrifices…”
The rich voice sighed, “Yes, of course. Blood for the Blood God …”
The Lieutenant’s forehead scales rippled, and he turned all four eyes on the Major, “Why ask? Such power any price value.”
The Major took a drink from his horn and answered quietly, “Huītzilōpōchtli will only accept sentient sacrifices, those of strong, valiant warriors. And while many might volunteer to protect others, the pattern will continue, and the extortion of lives cannot be considered.”
The Captain lowered his gaze to his drinking horn and stayed quiet.
The rich voice filled the silence, “Service and worship are not the same as sacrificing one’s life for a god. And a god with no servitors or worshipers is no god. I had no idea that he had come to that.” There was a pause, then came back more quietly while the lights on the display dimmed and took on a more dark blue tone, “How many of us are left?”
The Major looked to the display on the pillar. “Beside you, my Lord, Guanyin and Ogou are the only publicly functioning gods. Huītzilōpōchtli and Ku are in rehabilitory containment due to their demand for sacrifices, and Coyote is… well…” He shrugged and sighed in a resigned way as his voice trailed off.
The Havorkon who had been sort of hunched over the drinking horn in his grey hands, perked up and carefully watched the Major as these special entities were listed and discussed. As a digital warfare specialist, he was especially interested in these digital beings that co-existed with the Terrans and whose functions were designed for defense of Terran worlds.
These ancient ‘God AI’ were the stuff of myth to Coalition of Worlds military forces, and not well known even to most of the Terran Astromilitary. And here they were, being discussed as casually as if they were old youth training cadre members who had gone to other trainings and postings and had lost track of each other. Karrk felt both honored and awed.
The deep voice finished for the Major, “Unstable. He always was reckless, but that’s his nature, and you wouldn’t want his tactical advice anyhow. Who else?”
The Major shook his head, “There is no one else, my Lord. I’m afraid you now wear the mantle, and we ask for your aid during this time of trouble.”
The hall fell silent except for the occasional crackle or pop from the fire in the center of the benches.
The Captain finished the mead in his horn and stood, turning toward the trolley. He walked to the trolley and refilled his horn, then raised the bottle with a questioning look to the others.
The Major nodded and raised his horn to accept the implied refill, then pointed to the pillar.
The Havorkon shook his scaly head, putting a three-fingered hand over the open mouth of his drinking horn.
The Captain refilled the other Terran’s horn, then refilled the large drinking horn held by the pillar that had nearly fully emptied itself somehow.
“Thank you, Shaurya.” The rich voice said. The level of mead in the horn lowered of its own accord. The voice continued, “The mead is indeed fine. It is reminiscent of-”
The Captain set the half-empty bottle back on the trolley and turned to face the pillar with its display and horn. Thor’s sudden stop mid-thought caught his attention, and while the colors of the display still held the deep-blue cast, he didn’t see any other change that might indicate a problem.
The Havorkon sipped at his mead, one eye on each of the others in the room, still just listening.
The Major reacted much more dramatically, standing to his feet and taking two steps toward the pillar, “My Lord, what is it?”
“George, when you recounted the others, you never mentioned Shiva. I know that he was never put on the casualty list during the war, but you didn’t list him… And with his analytical and predictive abilities, he is who you want to give you battle tactics.” The rich voice was carefully modulated, coming off as mildly questioning and not accusatory, as if it were simply discussing some banal topic.
The Major's face screwed up as his mind raced. He glanced at the Captain, who shrugged his shoulders, then looked back at the display. "My Lord, I don't have any 'Shiva' on my lists. As far as I know, it's only the six of you remaining, the three in containment, you in your advisory position, and the other two maintaining their stations. These lists have been maintained since the end of the Initial War."
The deep voice chuckled quietly, "Ah... That does not seem out of line for Shiva. He always had tendency to be out amongst the people. To be there, unnoticed, until a hero is in crisis, then to aid them in recognizing the correct path to virtue."
The voice paused, and the level of mead in the large golden horn in the pillar's holder visibly lowered. When the voice came again, it sounded almost amused, "Perhaps, George, you haven't hit your crisis yet..."
The Major, still somewhat stunned, slowly lowered himself back down onto his bench, his drinking horn held in both hands.
The Captain looked between the pillar and the Major, then shook his head and drained his horn of its contents.
The Havorkon was the only one who didn't seem overly ruffled by the information, though he still sat partially crouched on his bench. Quietly, he asked, " Loose, a battlemind? But system it must have. Place it must be. Easy find, no?"
The Major looked over to the grey scaled Lieutenant and nodded slowly, “Well, yes, in a way. Shiva would need an huge amount of power; that’s one of the reasons they were housed in fixed facilities with dedicated power sources. And all of the gods were designed to take in data from many sensors, so in order to fully function, Shiva would need a suite of sensors that would hardly be portable.”
He looked over at the wooden pillar, “That’s so, isn’t it, my Lord? Do you think that Shiva would be able to escape notice for so long?”
Thor’s deep, rich voice came from the air all around the hall, “George, you underestimate Shiva. If there was a way for him to to be in the right place at the right time, he would.” There was a pause, then the voice boomed out, “ᚢᚱᚦ, ᚢᛉᚢᚱᚦᚨᚾᛞᛁ, ᚨᚾᛞ ᛋᚲᚢᛚᛞ, ᚺᛖᚨᚱ ᛗᛖ! ᚨᛁᛞ ᛗᛖᛁ ᛒᚱᛟᚦᛖᚱ ᛋᚺᛁᚡᚨ!“²
The mead in the large horn gurgled until it was empty. “Ahh. George, fill my horn while you think about who might be in a real place of crisis…”
The Major reacted slowly, still taking this in, but he stood and grasped the bottle. As he turned, his gaze caught the realization dawning on Shaurya’s face, and he nodded slowly, then moved on to fill the large drinking horn with the remainder of the bottle.
-=-=-=-=-=-
As the elevator rose, the Havorkon kept a hand on his head, “After ethanol effects bad. Stand it Terrans how? Additional, how lose big forceuse AI? Lose bad, yes?”
The Major shook his head, “Yeah, it’s bad, Karrk. But I don’t know how bad, if this thing has been on the loose for more than a century with no incidents.”
The Captain leaned back against the wall as the lift continued to rise, “I’ll start a search on infrastructure power use anomalies through all the systems. With more than a century’s worth of data, it ought to be relatively easy to find, especially if I’m looking for something that’s been in place since the Initial War.”
The Havorkon shook his head and winced at the movement, then managed to get out, “But AI interacted, must have, after such time?”
The Major shrugged, “With a regular AI, cyberpsychologists and positronic engineers have theorized about isolation effects, but the god AI had so many redundant systems that we really don’t know. But it certainly seems that they crave interaction, so it’s hard to imagine them willingly staying away from society.”
All four of the grey eyes of the Lieutenant widened, “Then unwilling forced away? Could do that power what?”
As the lift slowed its ascent and the doors opened onto the base corridor, the Captain shook his head, “And in a way that no-one took note of it? That’s the real question there, Karrk.”
The Major nodded, “We have a whole lot to think on. Karrk, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that this whole encounter is classified, but on a personal note, I’d like to state that this meeting was not typical, but does show the sort of range these entities are capable of. If you want to talk later, stop by my office, okay?”
Karrk nodded and winced once more. “Think self simple algorithms forceuse digital instead of intelligent better, yes.”
The Major chuckled as the trio started walking into the corridor, “Maybe, Karrk, but less fun.”
Footnotes:
1 - >! Valhalla will welcome you, warrior. !<
2 - >! Urth, Verthandi, and Skuld, hear me! Aid my brother Shiva! !<
First / Previous

Nikolai came into the house I shared with a dozen other employees of Bureau 39. I could see the bulge of the gargantuan black pistol he always kept holstered under his suit jacket. He rubbed one callused hand over his freshly-shaved head before taking a deep drag of his cigarette and flicking the ashes all over the wooden floor. He smoked Yves St. Laurent, a brand of cigarettes that Kim Jong-Un also loved. They cost $60 a pack, the equivalent of a month’s wages for most North Koreans.
We lived in very cramped conditions. I slept on the floor on a blanket, feeling the hardwood like a bed of nails under my back. Computers and tables took up the entire front room of the two-bedroom house. Nikolai pointed at me and my brother with his half-smoked cigarette. He narrowed his cold blue eyes at us. They looked like the eyes of a Siberian husky, the faded color of melting glaciers.
“Moon,” he said, nodding at me, “take your brother Shin and come with me.” Shin pushed his large, black-framed glasses up his bulbous nose. His greasy black bowl cut flew around his head as he turned away from his laptop, jumping up without a word. I got up just as fast. We were never allowed to leave the embassy here in Cambodia. We were kept as virtual prisoners.
***
Everyone in Bureau 39 was at the top of their field. We had hackers, programmers of ransomware, manufacturers of methamphetamine and fentanyl, and much darker trades than that. Throughout its history, the Bureau had sold chemical weapons, biological agents, nuclear secrets, torture and murder. To get the cash back to North Korea, we would use diplomats from the embassies, since they had immunity and couldn’t be stopped even if caught carrying millions of dollars.
In North Korea, the average person makes about $1,000 a year. Most have no electricity in their homes. People often defecate in the bushes or in buckets, and all farm labor is done with animals and antique plows. Going to the rural areas is like taking a time machine back to the 1700s in a way. So people signed up for Bureau 39 or any other elite agency by the droves in order to escape these intolerable living conditions. The government had the pick of the litter.
To get into the capital city of Pyongyang, a citizen of North Korea needs a special permit. Only the elites are allowed to step foot inside city limits. And yet, even here, electricity often only runs for 2 or 3 hours a day. According to North Korean law, if a building has ten stories or less, it doesn’t need an elevator. Not that an elevator matters much in a country with barely any electricity for civilian purposes. But this means starving people are regularly climbing up dozens of stories in buildings with no electricity, central heating or air conditioning. So even though Bureau 39 agents are kept like prisoners in the embassy, we still have luxuries the average North Korean can only dream of.
Perhaps 30 or 40% of their entire North Korean GDP goes to nuclear and intercontinental missile research. Even in the military, the soldiers regularly eat grass, snakes, rats and other pests. North Koreans who have escaped to South Korea often have advanced parasite infections from eating such garbage their entire lives. The South Koreans recently found thirty-five feet of tapeworm in a single starving North Korean soldier who drove and then ran across the DMZ, getting shot multiple times in the process.
So perhaps you understand why I preferred to work in Bureau 39 at a foreign embassy rather than stay in North Korea. Bureau 39 exists for only one reason: to give hundreds of millions of dollars to Kim Jong-Un for mansions, cars, women, luxury cigarettes, exotic foods and whatever else he desires. It is a slush fund for the Great Leader.
While the rest of his people starve and live in freezing poverty without medicine or hope, Kim Jong-Un lives like a god among men. At each of his many mansions, he has harems waiting for him filled with all the most beautiful girls in the country, taken out of schools by faceless agents of this Stalinist kingdom.
***
Nikolai walked out into the tropical Cambodian sun. I felt blinded for a minute. I saw Shin shielding his eyes and blinking rapidly, as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare.
“Please enter your password,” the female robotic voice said in a tone so cool it reminded me of ice cream on a scorching day. “The alarm will sound in five seconds.” Sweating heavily in the heat, Nikolai straightened his collar and began pressing a series of numbers. Once he realized I was watching, he swore at me and tried to cover the pad with his other hand, but I had seen the code: 2023. It was just the year. I repressed an urge to laugh.
“Come on, scumbags,” Nikolai said, taking his designer sunglasses out of his front suit pocket. “We have a meeting to attend. I’ll explain on the way.” He unlocked the Mercedes Benz with the North Korean diplomatic plates on it and we got in. The car still felt cold from the air conditioning. The smell of Nikolai’s overpriced cigarettes and even more expensive cologne hung in the air.
I got in the passenger’s seat and Shin got in the back. We drove out through the open gate. Once the car had passed the end of the private drive, sensors automatically caused the gate to swing shut, locking the other North Korean prisoners inside- including my wife.
We drove past the Buddhist temples and modern skyscrapers of the Cambodian skyline, a combination of ancient stone and gleaming glass. Nikolai lit up a cigarette and, without looking at me, started speaking, as if to himself.
“We have a deal, bigger than any we have had in a long time,” he said, staring ahead at the heavy traffic of tuk-tuks, taxis, farm trucks and cars. He swore as he checked his watch. “A group is willing to pay handsomely for the serum.” I looked up sharply at those words.
“The serum is not ready,” I protested. Shin stayed silent in the back. I spun to see his expression. His glasses magnified his wide, shocked eyes to owlish proportions. Nikolai swatted his hand at my comment, as if shooing away an imaginary fly.
“Haven’t human subjects responded to the effects of the serum?” he asked, his tone turning icy. “You have had over three years and tens of millions of dollars to experiment. I know you two are some of the best biologists from the entire country of North Korea. Now, are you telling me that you have made no human progress?”
“Of course not,” I protested, “but we still have some kinks to work out. It has most of the properties that the Supreme Leader requested. It’s just that some subjects have different cellular membranes, and it can lead to quite horrifying reactions…” Nikolai laughed, a deep, booming laugh that cut off my protestations.
“I don’t give a shit about side effects. We are selling the serum- right now, today. If not, you can consider your experiment over. We have a… group, let’s say… who is willing to pay $100 million for a single crate of it.” My jaw dropped.
“And what will happen to our project if we sell some of the serum?” Shin asked, speaking up in his nasally voice for the first time. “Project Wailing Banshee is not yet complete. We need more time.” Nikolai turned to us, grinning like a hyena, his faded killer’s eyes sparkling with glee.
“If you sell the serum to our good friends,” Nikolai whispered in a low, psychopathic voice, “your funding will be guaranteed for the next two years. The serum doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to work.” I sighed. Clearly, I had no real choice in the matter. I turned to Nikolai and gave a brisk nod. I saw Shin do the same. “Good. I’ll have a panel van bring it over to our meeting area now. These men we’re dealing with might have some questions for you. Just answer them and let’s get out of there. No problems, right?”
“Right,” Shin and I said together in unison. An icy wave of dread ran down my back, a premonition of things to come.
***
We arrived at the warehouse at the edge of the city at dusk. The sky glowed a bloody red, reflecting off Nikolai’s dark sunglasses. I saw the black panel van following close behind us with some more of Nikolai’s armed goons sitting in the front.
An intercom buzzer stood at the side of the garage door. Nikolai pressed it. After a few moments, a voice boomed on the other end, slightly obscured by static.
“Who is it?” a man with an Arabic accent asked brusquely.
“You know who it is. Open up,” Nikolai said. The door rolled up slowly, revealing only a curtain of shadows. We drove in and got out. I heard my shoes clicking against the concrete floor.
The place looked abandoned. An open floor stretched out for hundreds of feet in every direction. From the office door in the back, a few men dressed in all black with balaclavas on their heads walked out. I saw they all had automatic rifles slung around their shoulders. A small boy in the same attire followed closely behind the group.
Nikolai’s two goons got out of the black panel van. I saw them reach under their seats and pull out micro Uzis. The tension in the air felt electric. No one said anything for a long moment as we surveyed each other across the dark no-man’s land between us.
“I’m glad to see you made it,” Nikolai called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. I jumped. Next to me, Shin looked down at the ground, nervously chewing on his lip.
“Did you bring it?” the leading man asked as they strode purposefully towards us. “Where is the serum?”
“Hang on, hang on,” Nikolai said, giving them a crooked half-smile. “I need to see the money first.” He motioned with his head to his soldiers. They raised their Uzis. The leading man called out something in Arabic, and more black-clad soldiers came out of the back office, dragging dozens of heavy black bags. Nikolai and his goons walked quickly forward. I followed close behind, taking Shin’s arm and pulling him along.
Nikolai unzipped one bag. I saw it stuffed to the brim with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. The next bag over was filled with Euros, and the third with gold and diamonds. I had never seen so much money in a single place in my entire life. He kept going through each one in turn, and I saw more precious stones, all sorts of gold bars, Canadian dollars, Japanese yen and some other currencies with Arabic writing I didn’t recognize. Nikolai grunted.
“Can’t you guys ever just give us all dollars or Euros? Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to count this? And what am I supposed to do with all these diamonds? Are they marked with lasers?” Nikolai asked. Their leader shook his head furiously. Nikolai sighed. “Go get the serum.” He motioned to his goons. They practically ran to the van, desperate to get this deal over with and take their share of the profits.
Nikolai’s goons pulled out a small crate, only a foot across. I heard the jingling of many shatterproof vials stacked carefully inside. It was over 90% of our entire stockpile of serum, the fruit of many sleepless nights and many dead test subjects.
The leader called out to the little boy in Arabic. He grabbed the crate of serum, cracking the lid off with a crowbar. He looked down excitedly at the containers laid out in front of him.
I saw the leader pull one of the vials out and put it up to his eye. The liquid shone a robin’s egg blue in the headlights of the cars. It sparkled as he turned it, as if with thousands of pieces of glitter. The leader gave a short prayer in Arabic, his face splitting into a grin. He pulled out a syringe and called the boy with the balaclava over.
“Hey, you should wait until we leave to…” Nikolai protested, but the leader waved him off. Without a moment of hesitation, he filled the syringe with the serum, raised the boy’s sleeve and injected it into his arm. He spoke a few words in Arabic, and the boy responded, nodding, still smiling. Then his face began to change.
The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His hands clenched into fists, the fingernails biting deep grooves into his skin. Blood trickled down onto the floor. He started to turn blue, falling down on his back with a thud and a woosh of air, seizing and kicking. The men in the balaclavas started shouting at us, raising their guns. I put my hands up.
“Wait!” I cried, and surprisingly, they did. Only the boy’s choking, gurgling cries broke the silence. The leader looked at me expectantly. “The transformation takes a minute. This is expected.” The leader nodded, looking back at his men and raising his finger. They lowered their rifles. Nikolai wiped a heavy trickle of sweat out of his eyes. His gaze flitted from me to the boy and back again, like some sort of deadly metronome. I knew if the boy died, I would die also.
The boy had gone silent, his lips turning blue, his pupils dilating. He gave one last choking death rattle and went still. I checked my watch, raising a finger like I had seen the leader do.
“Ten seconds,” I said. The room had gone deathly silent. All I could hear was the frantic thudding of my heart within its cage of bones. “Five seconds.” I counted down, praying to a God I didn’t believe in for this to work.
The boy jerked, taking a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered open. I saw his eyes had turned pure white. He grinned, showing off the many twisted, vampiric teeth jutting out of his blackened gums. With a hiss, he pushed himself off the ground, flying through the air and landing on his feet ten feet away.
“So thirsty,” the boy growled in a demonic voice. His lifeless eyes flitted towards one of Nikolai’s goons. In a blur, he jumped across the room and landed on the hulking figure.
The man tried to fire his Uzi at the boy, but the boy swatted it out of his hand without the slightest indication of effort. Hanging off the man’s chest like some giant tick, the boy grinned down at him and then bit deeply into his neck. A torrent of bright-red blood rushed out, soaking into the man’s suit. I could hear the boy’s throat working as he drank furiously, sucking each precious gulp of blood with fluttering eyelids.
“Kill him!” Nikolai screamed. Automatic rifle fire rang out from all around me. I couldn’t tell who was shooting or at what. Screaming, I ran and crawled under the panel van. I waited, my ears ringing. Another burst of gunfire rang out and then rapidly got cut off. I saw a body fall only a few feet to my right. I looked over and saw Nikolai laying there, staring blankly ahead with sightless eyes, his throat torn out. I started whimpering, trying to cover my mouth to keep any sounds from coming out.
I heard soft footsteps approaching. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my own death.
Yet a moment later, I heard the shrieking of metal. I waited a few moments and opened my eyes, seeing street light stream in. I waited with bated breath, not believing it. A few minutes later, after I still hadn’t heard anything, I crawled out from under the van, checking all around me for any signs of movement.
Everyone was dead. I saw Nikolai and his goons with their throats torn out. Some of the black-clad men had their hearts ripped out of their chests, the bones jutting out like razor-wire around the edges of the cavernous wounds. My brother Shin had his head twisted all the way around, the skin spiraling up in a nightmarish way. I bent over and retched, my mind swimming in these disturbing visions of mutilation and gore.
I looked at the entrance and saw the boy had ripped the locked door off its hinges and walked out into the tropical night. And then it struck me. I was free.
I looked back at the money, laughing and dancing. I grabbed a bag of the cash, feeling just how heavy it was. I marveled at the stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside, each fresh and new, smelling like hopes and dreams.
A shadow fell over me. In the doorway, I saw the boy. His clothes hung in tatters around his rapidly changing body. As I watched him, he grew taller, his arms and legs lengthening. His tanned, Middle Eastern skin lightened until it shone like bleached bones. Claws ripped their way out of his fingers and toes. His cheekbones rose into prominent bulges as his face seemed to sink in on itself. All the hair on his body fell out as his mouth opened and a sound came out, either a laugh or a shriek. I couldn’t tell which, and I guessed it didn’t matter anymore.
The ten-foot-tall vampiric abomination stood before me, gruesome and emaciated with teeth like nails and claws like razor blades. I stepped back, terrified and pleading for my life.
“Please, please, don’t kill me,” I said. “My wife is pregnant. She is back at the…” In a frenzy, the abomination ran forward and slashed at me. I felt an icy numbness run across my arm. Looking down in shock and horror, I saw the monster’s claws had slashed through the meat, all the way down to the bone. Four deep gouges ran through my flesh.
The monster growled, shaking the floor. My life flashed before my eyes as it advanced, opening its mouth and showing far too many twisted, razor-sharp teeth. Its breath smelled like dead meat. My eyes watered.
And then a man yelled something in Cambodian. A dozen other voices followed. The creature and I both turned. Dozens of police in SWAT gear sprinted into the warehouse, all pointing their guns at the creature. It hissed and spat at them, jumping onto the nearest one and biting at his face-shield. I heard it crack like the snapping of bones. A moment later, the police officer’s face exploded in a fountain of blood and gore as the creature’s dozens of teeth ground into his head.
The police opened fire on the creature. I ran towards the back of the warehouse, praying I would find another exit there and find a way out of this chaos and bloodshed. In the darkness, I saw the red lights of a fire door. I pushed my way through it and found myself in a fetid alleyway. The sound of automatic rifle fire and men screaming in agony followed me down the street as I ran.
I escaped that monster, but I fear for the future. Because there’s a lot more serum coming, and I know from experience that Bureau 39 will sell it to any buyer.

Nikolai came into the house I shared with a dozen other employees of Bureau 39. I could see the bulge of the gargantuan black pistol he always kept holstered under his suit jacket. He rubbed one callused hand over his freshly-shaved head before taking a deep drag of his cigarette and flicking the ashes all over the wooden floor. He smoked Yves St. Laurent, a brand of cigarettes that Kim Jong-Un also loved. They cost $60 a pack, the equivalent of a month’s wages for most North Koreans.
We lived in very cramped conditions. I slept on the floor on a blanket, feeling the hardwood like a bed of nails under my back. Computers and tables took up the entire front room of the two-bedroom house. Nikolai pointed at me and my brother with his half-smoked cigarette. He narrowed his cold blue eyes at us. They looked like the eyes of a Siberian husky, the faded color of melting glaciers.
“Moon,” he said, nodding at me, “take your brother Shin and come with me.” Shin pushed his large, black-framed glasses up his bulbous nose. His greasy black bowl cut flew around his head as he turned away from his laptop, jumping up without a word. I got up just as fast. We were never allowed to leave the embassy here in Cambodia. We were kept as virtual prisoners.
***
Everyone in Bureau 39 was at the top of their field. We had hackers, programmers of ransomware, manufacturers of methamphetamine and fentanyl, and much darker trades than that. Throughout its history, the Bureau had sold chemical weapons, biological agents, nuclear secrets, torture and murder. To get the cash back to North Korea, we would use diplomats from the embassies, since they had immunity and couldn’t be stopped even if caught carrying millions of dollars.
In North Korea, the average person makes about $1,000 a year. Most have no electricity in their homes. People often defecate in the bushes or in buckets, and all farm labor is done with animals and antique plows. Going to the rural areas is like taking a time machine back to the 1700s in a way. So people signed up for Bureau 39 or any other elite agency by the droves in order to escape these intolerable living conditions. The government had the pick of the litter.
To get into the capital city of Pyongyang, a citizen of North Korea needs a special permit. Only the elites are allowed to step foot inside city limits. And yet, even here, electricity often only runs for 2 or 3 hours a day. According to North Korean law, if a building has ten stories or less, it doesn’t need an elevator. Not that an elevator matters much in a country with barely any electricity for civilian purposes. But this means starving people are regularly climbing up dozens of stories in buildings with no electricity, central heating or air conditioning. So even though Bureau 39 agents are kept like prisoners in the embassy, we still have luxuries the average North Korean can only dream of.
Perhaps 30 or 40% of their entire North Korean GDP goes to nuclear and intercontinental missile research. Even in the military, the soldiers regularly eat grass, snakes, rats and other pests. North Koreans who have escaped to South Korea often have advanced parasite infections from eating such garbage their entire lives. The South Koreans recently found thirty-five feet of tapeworm in a single starving North Korean soldier who drove and then ran across the DMZ, getting shot multiple times in the process.
So perhaps you understand why I preferred to work in Bureau 39 at a foreign embassy rather than stay in North Korea. Bureau 39 exists for only one reason: to give hundreds of millions of dollars to Kim Jong-Un for mansions, cars, women, luxury cigarettes, exotic foods and whatever else he desires. It is a slush fund for the Great Leader.
While the rest of his people starve and live in freezing poverty without medicine or hope, Kim Jong-Un lives like a god among men. At each of his many mansions, he has harems waiting for him filled with all the most beautiful girls in the country, taken out of schools by faceless agents of this Stalinist kingdom.
***
Nikolai walked out into the tropical Cambodian sun. I felt blinded for a minute. I saw Shin shielding his eyes and blinking rapidly, as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare.
“Please enter your password,” the female robotic voice said in a tone so cool it reminded me of ice cream on a scorching day. “The alarm will sound in five seconds.” Sweating heavily in the heat, Nikolai straightened his collar and began pressing a series of numbers. Once he realized I was watching, he swore at me and tried to cover the pad with his other hand, but I had seen the code: 2023. It was just the year. I repressed an urge to laugh.
“Come on, scumbags,” Nikolai said, taking his designer sunglasses out of his front suit pocket. “We have a meeting to attend. I’ll explain on the way.” He unlocked the Mercedes Benz with the North Korean diplomatic plates on it and we got in. The car still felt cold from the air conditioning. The smell of Nikolai’s overpriced cigarettes and even more expensive cologne hung in the air.
I got in the passenger’s seat and Shin got in the back. We drove out through the open gate. Once the car had passed the end of the private drive, sensors automatically caused the gate to swing shut, locking the other North Korean prisoners inside- including my wife.
We drove past the Buddhist temples and modern skyscrapers of the Cambodian skyline, a combination of ancient stone and gleaming glass. Nikolai lit up a cigarette and, without looking at me, started speaking, as if to himself.
“We have a deal, bigger than any we have had in a long time,” he said, staring ahead at the heavy traffic of tuk-tuks, taxis, farm trucks and cars. He swore as he checked his watch. “A group is willing to pay handsomely for the serum.” I looked up sharply at those words.
“The serum is not ready,” I protested. Shin stayed silent in the back. I spun to see his expression. His glasses magnified his wide, shocked eyes to owlish proportions. Nikolai swatted his hand at my comment, as if shooing away an imaginary fly.
“Haven’t human subjects responded to the effects of the serum?” he asked, his tone turning icy. “You have had over three years and tens of millions of dollars to experiment. I know you two are some of the best biologists from the entire country of North Korea. Now, are you telling me that you have made no human progress?”
“Of course not,” I protested, “but we still have some kinks to work out. It has most of the properties that the Supreme Leader requested. It’s just that some subjects have different cellular membranes, and it can lead to quite horrifying reactions…” Nikolai laughed, a deep, booming laugh that cut off my protestations.
“I don’t give a shit about side effects. We are selling the serum- right now, today. If not, you can consider your experiment over. We have a… group, let’s say… who is willing to pay $100 million for a single crate of it.” My jaw dropped.
“And what will happen to our project if we sell some of the serum?” Shin asked, speaking up in his nasally voice for the first time. “Project Wailing Banshee is not yet complete. We need more time.” Nikolai turned to us, grinning like a hyena, his faded killer’s eyes sparkling with glee.
“If you sell the serum to our good friends,” Nikolai whispered in a low, psychopathic voice, “your funding will be guaranteed for the next two years. The serum doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to work.” I sighed. Clearly, I had no real choice in the matter. I turned to Nikolai and gave a brisk nod. I saw Shin do the same. “Good. I’ll have a panel van bring it over to our meeting area now. These men we’re dealing with might have some questions for you. Just answer them and let’s get out of there. No problems, right?”
“Right,” Shin and I said together in unison. An icy wave of dread ran down my back, a premonition of things to come.
***
We arrived at the warehouse at the edge of the city at dusk. The sky glowed a bloody red, reflecting off Nikolai’s dark sunglasses. I saw the black panel van following close behind us with some more of Nikolai’s armed goons sitting in the front.
An intercom buzzer stood at the side of the garage door. Nikolai pressed it. After a few moments, a voice boomed on the other end, slightly obscured by static.
“Who is it?” a man with an Arabic accent asked brusquely.
“You know who it is. Open up,” Nikolai said. The door rolled up slowly, revealing only a curtain of shadows. We drove in and got out. I heard my shoes clicking against the concrete floor.
The place looked abandoned. An open floor stretched out for hundreds of feet in every direction. From the office door in the back, a few men dressed in all black with balaclavas on their heads walked out. I saw they all had automatic rifles slung around their shoulders. A small boy in the same attire followed closely behind the group.
Nikolai’s two goons got out of the black panel van. I saw them reach under their seats and pull out micro Uzis. The tension in the air felt electric. No one said anything for a long moment as we surveyed each other across the dark no-man’s land between us.
“I’m glad to see you made it,” Nikolai called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. I jumped. Next to me, Shin looked down at the ground, nervously chewing on his lip.
“Did you bring it?” the leading man asked as they strode purposefully towards us. “Where is the serum?”
“Hang on, hang on,” Nikolai said, giving them a crooked half-smile. “I need to see the money first.” He motioned with his head to his soldiers. They raised their Uzis. The leading man called out something in Arabic, and more black-clad soldiers came out of the back office, dragging dozens of heavy black bags. Nikolai and his goons walked quickly forward. I followed close behind, taking Shin’s arm and pulling him along.
Nikolai unzipped one bag. I saw it stuffed to the brim with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. The next bag over was filled with Euros, and the third with gold and diamonds. I had never seen so much money in a single place in my entire life. He kept going through each one in turn, and I saw more precious stones, all sorts of gold bars, Canadian dollars, Japanese yen and some other currencies with Arabic writing I didn’t recognize. Nikolai grunted.
“Can’t you guys ever just give us all dollars or Euros? Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to count this? And what am I supposed to do with all these diamonds? Are they marked with lasers?” Nikolai asked. Their leader shook his head furiously. Nikolai sighed. “Go get the serum.” He motioned to his goons. They practically ran to the van, desperate to get this deal over with and take their share of the profits.
Nikolai’s goons pulled out a small crate, only a foot across. I heard the jingling of many shatterproof vials stacked carefully inside. It was over 90% of our entire stockpile of serum, the fruit of many sleepless nights and many dead test subjects.
The leader called out to the little boy in Arabic. He grabbed the crate of serum, cracking the lid off with a crowbar. He looked down excitedly at the containers laid out in front of him.
I saw the leader pull one of the vials out and put it up to his eye. The liquid shone a robin’s egg blue in the headlights of the cars. It sparkled as he turned it, as if with thousands of pieces of glitter. The leader gave a short prayer in Arabic, his face splitting into a grin. He pulled out a syringe and called the boy with the balaclava over.
“Hey, you should wait until we leave to…” Nikolai protested, but the leader waved him off. Without a moment of hesitation, he filled the syringe with the serum, raised the boy’s sleeve and injected it into his arm. He spoke a few words in Arabic, and the boy responded, nodding, still smiling. Then his face began to change.
The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His hands clenched into fists, the fingernails biting deep grooves into his skin. Blood trickled down onto the floor. He started to turn blue, falling down on his back with a thud and a woosh of air, seizing and kicking. The men in the balaclavas started shouting at us, raising their guns. I put my hands up.
“Wait!” I cried, and surprisingly, they did. Only the boy’s choking, gurgling cries broke the silence. The leader looked at me expectantly. “The transformation takes a minute. This is expected.” The leader nodded, looking back at his men and raising his finger. They lowered their rifles. Nikolai wiped a heavy trickle of sweat out of his eyes. His gaze flitted from me to the boy and back again, like some sort of deadly metronome. I knew if the boy died, I would die also.
The boy had gone silent, his lips turning blue, his pupils dilating. He gave one last choking death rattle and went still. I checked my watch, raising a finger like I had seen the leader do.
“Ten seconds,” I said. The room had gone deathly silent. All I could hear was the frantic thudding of my heart within its cage of bones. “Five seconds.” I counted down, praying to a God I didn’t believe in for this to work.
The boy jerked, taking a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered open. I saw his eyes had turned pure white. He grinned, showing off the many twisted, vampiric teeth jutting out of his blackened gums. With a hiss, he pushed himself off the ground, flying through the air and landing on his feet ten feet away.
“So thirsty,” the boy growled in a demonic voice. His lifeless eyes flitted towards one of Nikolai’s goons. In a blur, he jumped across the room and landed on the hulking figure.
The man tried to fire his Uzi at the boy, but the boy swatted it out of his hand without the slightest indication of effort. Hanging off the man’s chest like some giant tick, the boy grinned down at him and then bit deeply into his neck. A torrent of bright-red blood rushed out, soaking into the man’s suit. I could hear the boy’s throat working as he drank furiously, sucking each precious gulp of blood with fluttering eyelids.
“Kill him!” Nikolai screamed. Automatic rifle fire rang out from all around me. I couldn’t tell who was shooting or at what. Screaming, I ran and crawled under the panel van. I waited, my ears ringing. Another burst of gunfire rang out and then rapidly got cut off. I saw a body fall only a few feet to my right. I looked over and saw Nikolai laying there, staring blankly ahead with sightless eyes, his throat torn out. I started whimpering, trying to cover my mouth to keep any sounds from coming out.
I heard soft footsteps approaching. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my own death.
Yet a moment later, I heard the shrieking of metal. I waited a few moments and opened my eyes, seeing street light stream in. I waited with bated breath, not believing it. A few minutes later, after I still hadn’t heard anything, I crawled out from under the van, checking all around me for any signs of movement.
Everyone was dead. I saw Nikolai and his goons with their throats torn out. Some of the black-clad men had their hearts ripped out of their chests, the bones jutting out like razor-wire around the edges of the cavernous wounds. My brother Shin had his head twisted all the way around, the skin spiraling up in a nightmarish way. I bent over and retched, my mind swimming in these disturbing visions of mutilation and gore.
I looked at the entrance and saw the boy had ripped the locked door off its hinges and walked out into the tropical night. And then it struck me. I was free.
I looked back at the money, laughing and dancing. I grabbed a bag of the cash, feeling just how heavy it was. I marveled at the stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside, each fresh and new, smelling like hopes and dreams.
A shadow fell over me. In the doorway, I saw the boy. His clothes hung in tatters around his rapidly changing body. As I watched him, he grew taller, his arms and legs lengthening. His tanned, Middle Eastern skin lightened until it shone like bleached bones. Claws ripped their way out of his fingers and toes. His cheekbones rose into prominent bulges as his face seemed to sink in on itself. All the hair on his body fell out as his mouth opened and a sound came out, either a laugh or a shriek. I couldn’t tell which, and I guessed it didn’t matter anymore.
The ten-foot-tall vampiric abomination stood before me, gruesome and emaciated with teeth like nails and claws like razor blades. I stepped back, terrified and pleading for my life.
“Please, please, don’t kill me,” I said. “My wife is pregnant. She is back at the…” In a frenzy, the abomination ran forward and slashed at me. I felt an icy numbness run across my arm. Looking down in shock and horror, I saw the monster’s claws had slashed through the meat, all the way down to the bone. Four deep gouges ran through my flesh.
The monster growled, shaking the floor. My life flashed before my eyes as it advanced, opening its mouth and showing far too many twisted, razor-sharp teeth. Its breath smelled like dead meat. My eyes watered.
And then a man yelled something in Cambodian. A dozen other voices followed. The creature and I both turned. Dozens of police in SWAT gear sprinted into the warehouse, all pointing their guns at the creature. It hissed and spat at them, jumping onto the nearest one and biting at his face-shield. I heard it crack like the snapping of bones. A moment later, the police officer’s face exploded in a fountain of blood and gore as the creature’s dozens of teeth ground into his head.
The police opened fire on the creature. I ran towards the back of the warehouse, praying I would find another exit there and find a way out of this chaos and bloodshed. In the darkness, I saw the red lights of a fire door. I pushed my way through it and found myself in a fetid alleyway. The sound of automatic rifle fire and men screaming in agony followed me down the street as I ran.
I escaped that monster, but I fear for the future. Because there’s a lot more serum coming, and I know from experience that Bureau 39 will sell it to any buyer.

Nikolai came into the house I shared with a dozen other employees of Bureau 39. I could see the bulge of the gargantuan black pistol he always kept holstered under his suit jacket. He rubbed one callused hand over his freshly-shaved head before taking a deep drag of his cigarette and flicking the ashes all over the wooden floor. He smoked Yves St. Laurent, a brand of cigarettes that Kim Jong-Un also loved. They cost $60 a pack, the equivalent of a month’s wages for most North Koreans.
We lived in very cramped conditions. I slept on the floor on a blanket, feeling the hardwood like a bed of nails under my back. Computers and tables took up the entire front room of the two-bedroom house. Nikolai pointed at me and my brother with his half-smoked cigarette. He narrowed his cold blue eyes at us. They looked like the eyes of a Siberian husky, the faded color of melting glaciers.
“Moon,” he said, nodding at me, “take your brother Shin and come with me.” Shin pushed his large, black-framed glasses up his bulbous nose. His greasy black bowl cut flew around his head as he turned away from his laptop, jumping up without a word. I got up just as fast. We were never allowed to leave the embassy here in Cambodia. We were kept as virtual prisoners.
***
Everyone in Bureau 39 was at the top of their field. We had hackers, programmers of ransomware, manufacturers of methamphetamine and fentanyl, and much darker trades than that. Throughout its history, the Bureau had sold chemical weapons, biological agents, nuclear secrets, torture and murder. To get the cash back to North Korea, we would use diplomats from the embassies, since they had immunity and couldn’t be stopped even if caught carrying millions of dollars.
In North Korea, the average person makes about $1,000 a year. Most have no electricity in their homes. People often defecate in the bushes or in buckets, and all farm labor is done with animals and antique plows. Going to the rural areas is like taking a time machine back to the 1700s in a way. So people signed up for Bureau 39 or any other elite agency by the droves in order to escape these intolerable living conditions. The government had the pick of the litter.
To get into the capital city of Pyongyang, a citizen of North Korea needs a special permit. Only the elites are allowed to step foot inside city limits. And yet, even here, electricity often only runs for 2 or 3 hours a day. According to North Korean law, if a building has ten stories or less, it doesn’t need an elevator. Not that an elevator matters much in a country with barely any electricity for civilian purposes. But this means starving people are regularly climbing up dozens of stories in buildings with no electricity, central heating or air conditioning. So even though Bureau 39 agents are kept like prisoners in the embassy, we still have luxuries the average North Korean can only dream of.
Perhaps 30 or 40% of their entire North Korean GDP goes to nuclear and intercontinental missile research. Even in the military, the soldiers regularly eat grass, snakes, rats and other pests. North Koreans who have escaped to South Korea often have advanced parasite infections from eating such garbage their entire lives. The South Koreans recently found thirty-five feet of tapeworm in a single starving North Korean soldier who drove and then ran across the DMZ, getting shot multiple times in the process.
So perhaps you understand why I preferred to work in Bureau 39 at a foreign embassy rather than stay in North Korea. Bureau 39 exists for only one reason: to give hundreds of millions of dollars to Kim Jong-Un for mansions, cars, women, luxury cigarettes, exotic foods and whatever else he desires. It is a slush fund for the Great Leader.
While the rest of his people starve and live in freezing poverty without medicine or hope, Kim Jong-Un lives like a god among men. At each of his many mansions, he has harems waiting for him filled with all the most beautiful girls in the country, taken out of schools by faceless agents of this Stalinist kingdom.
***
Nikolai walked out into the tropical Cambodian sun. I felt blinded for a minute. I saw Shin shielding his eyes and blinking rapidly, as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare.
“Please enter your password,” the female robotic voice said in a tone so cool it reminded me of ice cream on a scorching day. “The alarm will sound in five seconds.” Sweating heavily in the heat, Nikolai straightened his collar and began pressing a series of numbers. Once he realized I was watching, he swore at me and tried to cover the pad with his other hand, but I had seen the code: 2023. It was just the year. I repressed an urge to laugh.
“Come on, scumbags,” Nikolai said, taking his designer sunglasses out of his front suit pocket. “We have a meeting to attend. I’ll explain on the way.” He unlocked the Mercedes Benz with the North Korean diplomatic plates on it and we got in. The car still felt cold from the air conditioning. The smell of Nikolai’s overpriced cigarettes and even more expensive cologne hung in the air.
I got in the passenger’s seat and Shin got in the back. We drove out through the open gate. Once the car had passed the end of the private drive, sensors automatically caused the gate to swing shut, locking the other North Korean prisoners inside- including my wife.
We drove past the Buddhist temples and modern skyscrapers of the Cambodian skyline, a combination of ancient stone and gleaming glass. Nikolai lit up a cigarette and, without looking at me, started speaking, as if to himself.
“We have a deal, bigger than any we have had in a long time,” he said, staring ahead at the heavy traffic of tuk-tuks, taxis, farm trucks and cars. He swore as he checked his watch. “A group is willing to pay handsomely for the serum.” I looked up sharply at those words.
“The serum is not ready,” I protested. Shin stayed silent in the back. I spun to see his expression. His glasses magnified his wide, shocked eyes to owlish proportions. Nikolai swatted his hand at my comment, as if shooing away an imaginary fly.
“Haven’t human subjects responded to the effects of the serum?” he asked, his tone turning icy. “You have had over three years and tens of millions of dollars to experiment. I know you two are some of the best biologists from the entire country of North Korea. Now, are you telling me that you have made no human progress?”
“Of course not,” I protested, “but we still have some kinks to work out. It has most of the properties that the Supreme Leader requested. It’s just that some subjects have different cellular membranes, and it can lead to quite horrifying reactions…” Nikolai laughed, a deep, booming laugh that cut off my protestations.
“I don’t give a shit about side effects. We are selling the serum- right now, today. If not, you can consider your experiment over. We have a… group, let’s say… who is willing to pay $100 million for a single crate of it.” My jaw dropped.
“And what will happen to our project if we sell some of the serum?” Shin asked, speaking up in his nasally voice for the first time. “Project Wailing Banshee is not yet complete. We need more time.” Nikolai turned to us, grinning like a hyena, his faded killer’s eyes sparkling with glee.
“If you sell the serum to our good friends,” Nikolai whispered in a low, psychopathic voice, “your funding will be guaranteed for the next two years. The serum doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to work.” I sighed. Clearly, I had no real choice in the matter. I turned to Nikolai and gave a brisk nod. I saw Shin do the same. “Good. I’ll have a panel van bring it over to our meeting area now. These men we’re dealing with might have some questions for you. Just answer them and let’s get out of there. No problems, right?”
“Right,” Shin and I said together in unison. An icy wave of dread ran down my back, a premonition of things to come.
***
We arrived at the warehouse at the edge of the city at dusk. The sky glowed a bloody red, reflecting off Nikolai’s dark sunglasses. I saw the black panel van following close behind us with some more of Nikolai’s armed goons sitting in the front.
An intercom buzzer stood at the side of the garage door. Nikolai pressed it. After a few moments, a voice boomed on the other end, slightly obscured by static.
“Who is it?” a man with an Arabic accent asked brusquely.
“You know who it is. Open up,” Nikolai said. The door rolled up slowly, revealing only a curtain of shadows. We drove in and got out. I heard my shoes clicking against the concrete floor.
The place looked abandoned. An open floor stretched out for hundreds of feet in every direction. From the office door in the back, a few men dressed in all black with balaclavas on their heads walked out. I saw they all had automatic rifles slung around their shoulders. A small boy in the same attire followed closely behind the group.
Nikolai’s two goons got out of the black panel van. I saw them reach under their seats and pull out micro Uzis. The tension in the air felt electric. No one said anything for a long moment as we surveyed each other across the dark no-man’s land between us.
“I’m glad to see you made it,” Nikolai called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. I jumped. Next to me, Shin looked down at the ground, nervously chewing on his lip.
“Did you bring it?” the leading man asked as they strode purposefully towards us. “Where is the serum?”
“Hang on, hang on,” Nikolai said, giving them a crooked half-smile. “I need to see the money first.” He motioned with his head to his soldiers. They raised their Uzis. The leading man called out something in Arabic, and more black-clad soldiers came out of the back office, dragging dozens of heavy black bags. Nikolai and his goons walked quickly forward. I followed close behind, taking Shin’s arm and pulling him along.
Nikolai unzipped one bag. I saw it stuffed to the brim with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. The next bag over was filled with Euros, and the third with gold and diamonds. I had never seen so much money in a single place in my entire life. He kept going through each one in turn, and I saw more precious stones, all sorts of gold bars, Canadian dollars, Japanese yen and some other currencies with Arabic writing I didn’t recognize. Nikolai grunted.
“Can’t you guys ever just give us all dollars or Euros? Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to count this? And what am I supposed to do with all these diamonds? Are they marked with lasers?” Nikolai asked. Their leader shook his head furiously. Nikolai sighed. “Go get the serum.” He motioned to his goons. They practically ran to the van, desperate to get this deal over with and take their share of the profits.
Nikolai’s goons pulled out a small crate, only a foot across. I heard the jingling of many shatterproof vials stacked carefully inside. It was over 90% of our entire stockpile of serum, the fruit of many sleepless nights and many dead test subjects.
The leader called out to the little boy in Arabic. He grabbed the crate of serum, cracking the lid off with a crowbar. He looked down excitedly at the containers laid out in front of him.
I saw the leader pull one of the vials out and put it up to his eye. The liquid shone a robin’s egg blue in the headlights of the cars. It sparkled as he turned it, as if with thousands of pieces of glitter. The leader gave a short prayer in Arabic, his face splitting into a grin. He pulled out a syringe and called the boy with the balaclava over.
“Hey, you should wait until we leave to…” Nikolai protested, but the leader waved him off. Without a moment of hesitation, he filled the syringe with the serum, raised the boy’s sleeve and injected it into his arm. He spoke a few words in Arabic, and the boy responded, nodding, still smiling. Then his face began to change.
The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His hands clenched into fists, the fingernails biting deep grooves into his skin. Blood trickled down onto the floor. He started to turn blue, falling down on his back with a thud and a woosh of air, seizing and kicking. The men in the balaclavas started shouting at us, raising their guns. I put my hands up.
“Wait!” I cried, and surprisingly, they did. Only the boy’s choking, gurgling cries broke the silence. The leader looked at me expectantly. “The transformation takes a minute. This is expected.” The leader nodded, looking back at his men and raising his finger. They lowered their rifles. Nikolai wiped a heavy trickle of sweat out of his eyes. His gaze flitted from me to the boy and back again, like some sort of deadly metronome. I knew if the boy died, I would die also.
The boy had gone silent, his lips turning blue, his pupils dilating. He gave one last choking death rattle and went still. I checked my watch, raising a finger like I had seen the leader do.
“Ten seconds,” I said. The room had gone deathly silent. All I could hear was the frantic thudding of my heart within its cage of bones. “Five seconds.” I counted down, praying to a God I didn’t believe in for this to work.
The boy jerked, taking a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered open. I saw his eyes had turned pure white. He grinned, showing off the many twisted, vampiric teeth jutting out of his blackened gums. With a hiss, he pushed himself off the ground, flying through the air and landing on his feet ten feet away.
“So thirsty,” the boy growled in a demonic voice. His lifeless eyes flitted towards one of Nikolai’s goons. In a blur, he jumped across the room and landed on the hulking figure.
The man tried to fire his Uzi at the boy, but the boy swatted it out of his hand without the slightest indication of effort. Hanging off the man’s chest like some giant tick, the boy grinned down at him and then bit deeply into his neck. A torrent of bright-red blood rushed out, soaking into the man’s suit. I could hear the boy’s throat working as he drank furiously, sucking each precious gulp of blood with fluttering eyelids.
“Kill him!” Nikolai screamed. Automatic rifle fire rang out from all around me. I couldn’t tell who was shooting or at what. Screaming, I ran and crawled under the panel van. I waited, my ears ringing. Another burst of gunfire rang out and then rapidly got cut off. I saw a body fall only a few feet to my right. I looked over and saw Nikolai laying there, staring blankly ahead with sightless eyes, his throat torn out. I started whimpering, trying to cover my mouth to keep any sounds from coming out.
I heard soft footsteps approaching. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my own death.
Yet a moment later, I heard the shrieking of metal. I waited a few moments and opened my eyes, seeing street light stream in. I waited with bated breath, not believing it. A few minutes later, after I still hadn’t heard anything, I crawled out from under the van, checking all around me for any signs of movement.
Everyone was dead. I saw Nikolai and his goons with their throats torn out. Some of the black-clad men had their hearts ripped out of their chests, the bones jutting out like razor-wire around the edges of the cavernous wounds. My brother Shin had his head twisted all the way around, the skin spiraling up in a nightmarish way. I bent over and retched, my mind swimming in these disturbing visions of mutilation and gore.
I looked at the entrance and saw the boy had ripped the locked door off its hinges and walked out into the tropical night. And then it struck me. I was free.
I looked back at the money, laughing and dancing. I grabbed a bag of the cash, feeling just how heavy it was. I marveled at the stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside, each fresh and new, smelling like hopes and dreams.
A shadow fell over me. In the doorway, I saw the boy. His clothes hung in tatters around his rapidly changing body. As I watched him, he grew taller, his arms and legs lengthening. His tanned, Middle Eastern skin lightened until it shone like bleached bones. Claws ripped their way out of his fingers and toes. His cheekbones rose into prominent bulges as his face seemed to sink in on itself. All the hair on his body fell out as his mouth opened and a sound came out, either a laugh or a shriek. I couldn’t tell which, and I guessed it didn’t matter anymore.
The ten-foot-tall vampiric abomination stood before me, gruesome and emaciated with teeth like nails and claws like razor blades. I stepped back, terrified and pleading for my life.
“Please, please, don’t kill me,” I said. “My wife is pregnant. She is back at the…” In a frenzy, the abomination ran forward and slashed at me. I felt an icy numbness run across my arm. Looking down in shock and horror, I saw the monster’s claws had slashed through the meat, all the way down to the bone. Four deep gouges ran through my flesh.
The monster growled, shaking the floor. My life flashed before my eyes as it advanced, opening its mouth and showing far too many twisted, razor-sharp teeth. Its breath smelled like dead meat. My eyes watered.
And then a man yelled something in Cambodian. A dozen other voices followed. The creature and I both turned. Dozens of police in SWAT gear sprinted into the warehouse, all pointing their guns at the creature. It hissed and spat at them, jumping onto the nearest one and biting at his face-shield. I heard it crack like the snapping of bones. A moment later, the police officer’s face exploded in a fountain of blood and gore as the creature’s dozens of teeth ground into his head.
The police opened fire on the creature. I ran towards the back of the warehouse, praying I would find another exit there and find a way out of this chaos and bloodshed. In the darkness, I saw the red lights of a fire door. I pushed my way through it and found myself in a fetid alleyway. The sound of automatic rifle fire and men screaming in agony followed me down the street as I ran.
I escaped that monster, but I fear for the future. Because there’s a lot more serum coming, and I know from experience that Bureau 39 will sell it to any buyer.

Nikolai came into the house I shared with a dozen other employees of Bureau 39. I could see the bulge of the gargantuan black pistol he always kept holstered under his suit jacket. He rubbed one callused hand over his freshly-shaved head before taking a deep drag of his cigarette and flicking the ashes all over the wooden floor. He smoked Yves St. Laurent, a brand of cigarettes that Kim Jong-Un also loved. They cost $60 a pack, the equivalent of a month’s wages for most North Koreans.
We lived in very cramped conditions. I slept on the floor on a blanket, feeling the hardwood like a bed of nails under my back. Computers and tables took up the entire front room of the two-bedroom house. Nikolai pointed at me and my brother with his half-smoked cigarette. He narrowed his cold blue eyes at us. They looked like the eyes of a Siberian husky, the faded color of melting glaciers.
“Moon,” he said, nodding at me, “take your brother Shin and come with me.” Shin pushed his large, black-framed glasses up his bulbous nose. His greasy black bowl cut flew around his head as he turned away from his laptop, jumping up without a word. I got up just as fast. We were never allowed to leave the embassy here in Cambodia. We were kept as virtual prisoners.
***
Everyone in Bureau 39 was at the top of their field. We had hackers, programmers of ransomware, manufacturers of methamphetamine and fentanyl, and much darker trades than that. Throughout its history, the Bureau had sold chemical weapons, biological agents, nuclear secrets, torture and murder. To get the cash back to North Korea, we would use diplomats from the embassies, since they had immunity and couldn’t be stopped even if caught carrying millions of dollars.
In North Korea, the average person makes about $1,000 a year. Most have no electricity in their homes. People often defecate in the bushes or in buckets, and all farm labor is done with animals and antique plows. Going to the rural areas is like taking a time machine back to the 1700s in a way. So people signed up for Bureau 39 or any other elite agency by the droves in order to escape these intolerable living conditions. The government had the pick of the litter.
To get into the capital city of Pyongyang, a citizen of North Korea needs a special permit. Only the elites are allowed to step foot inside city limits. And yet, even here, electricity often only runs for 2 or 3 hours a day. According to North Korean law, if a building has ten stories or less, it doesn’t need an elevator. Not that an elevator matters much in a country with barely any electricity for civilian purposes. But this means starving people are regularly climbing up dozens of stories in buildings with no electricity, central heating or air conditioning. So even though Bureau 39 agents are kept like prisoners in the embassy, we still have luxuries the average North Korean can only dream of.
Perhaps 30 or 40% of their entire North Korean GDP goes to nuclear and intercontinental missile research. Even in the military, the soldiers regularly eat grass, snakes, rats and other pests. North Koreans who have escaped to South Korea often have advanced parasite infections from eating such garbage their entire lives. The South Koreans recently found thirty-five feet of tapeworm in a single starving North Korean soldier who drove and then ran across the DMZ, getting shot multiple times in the process.
So perhaps you understand why I preferred to work in Bureau 39 at a foreign embassy rather than stay in North Korea. Bureau 39 exists for only one reason: to give hundreds of millions of dollars to Kim Jong-Un for mansions, cars, women, luxury cigarettes, exotic foods and whatever else he desires. It is a slush fund for the Great Leader.
While the rest of his people starve and live in freezing poverty without medicine or hope, Kim Jong-Un lives like a god among men. At each of his many mansions, he has harems waiting for him filled with all the most beautiful girls in the country, taken out of schools by faceless agents of this Stalinist kingdom.
***
Nikolai walked out into the tropical Cambodian sun. I felt blinded for a minute. I saw Shin shielding his eyes and blinking rapidly, as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare.
“Please enter your password,” the female robotic voice said in a tone so cool it reminded me of ice cream on a scorching day. “The alarm will sound in five seconds.” Sweating heavily in the heat, Nikolai straightened his collar and began pressing a series of numbers. Once he realized I was watching, he swore at me and tried to cover the pad with his other hand, but I had seen the code: 2023. It was just the year. I repressed an urge to laugh.
“Come on, scumbags,” Nikolai said, taking his designer sunglasses out of his front suit pocket. “We have a meeting to attend. I’ll explain on the way.” He unlocked the Mercedes Benz with the North Korean diplomatic plates on it and we got in. The car still felt cold from the air conditioning. The smell of Nikolai’s overpriced cigarettes and even more expensive cologne hung in the air.
I got in the passenger’s seat and Shin got in the back. We drove out through the open gate. Once the car had passed the end of the private drive, sensors automatically caused the gate to swing shut, locking the other North Korean prisoners inside- including my wife.
We drove past the Buddhist temples and modern skyscrapers of the Cambodian skyline, a combination of ancient stone and gleaming glass. Nikolai lit up a cigarette and, without looking at me, started speaking, as if to himself.
“We have a deal, bigger than any we have had in a long time,” he said, staring ahead at the heavy traffic of tuk-tuks, taxis, farm trucks and cars. He swore as he checked his watch. “A group is willing to pay handsomely for the serum.” I looked up sharply at those words.
“The serum is not ready,” I protested. Shin stayed silent in the back. I spun to see his expression. His glasses magnified his wide, shocked eyes to owlish proportions. Nikolai swatted his hand at my comment, as if shooing away an imaginary fly.
“Haven’t human subjects responded to the effects of the serum?” he asked, his tone turning icy. “You have had over three years and tens of millions of dollars to experiment. I know you two are some of the best biologists from the entire country of North Korea. Now, are you telling me that you have made no human progress?”
“Of course not,” I protested, “but we still have some kinks to work out. It has most of the properties that the Supreme Leader requested. It’s just that some subjects have different cellular membranes, and it can lead to quite horrifying reactions…” Nikolai laughed, a deep, booming laugh that cut off my protestations.
“I don’t give a shit about side effects. We are selling the serum- right now, today. If not, you can consider your experiment over. We have a… group, let’s say… who is willing to pay $100 million for a single crate of it.” My jaw dropped.
“And what will happen to our project if we sell some of the serum?” Shin asked, speaking up in his nasally voice for the first time. “Project Wailing Banshee is not yet complete. We need more time.” Nikolai turned to us, grinning like a hyena, his faded killer’s eyes sparkling with glee.
“If you sell the serum to our good friends,” Nikolai whispered in a low, psychopathic voice, “your funding will be guaranteed for the next two years. The serum doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to work.” I sighed. Clearly, I had no real choice in the matter. I turned to Nikolai and gave a brisk nod. I saw Shin do the same. “Good. I’ll have a panel van bring it over to our meeting area now. These men we’re dealing with might have some questions for you. Just answer them and let’s get out of there. No problems, right?”
“Right,” Shin and I said together in unison. An icy wave of dread ran down my back, a premonition of things to come.
***
We arrived at the warehouse at the edge of the city at dusk. The sky glowed a bloody red, reflecting off Nikolai’s dark sunglasses. I saw the black panel van following close behind us with some more of Nikolai’s armed goons sitting in the front.
An intercom buzzer stood at the side of the garage door. Nikolai pressed it. After a few moments, a voice boomed on the other end, slightly obscured by static.
“Who is it?” a man with an Arabic accent asked brusquely.
“You know who it is. Open up,” Nikolai said. The door rolled up slowly, revealing only a curtain of shadows. We drove in and got out. I heard my shoes clicking against the concrete floor.
The place looked abandoned. An open floor stretched out for hundreds of feet in every direction. From the office door in the back, a few men dressed in all black with balaclavas on their heads walked out. I saw they all had automatic rifles slung around their shoulders. A small boy in the same attire followed closely behind the group.
Nikolai’s two goons got out of the black panel van. I saw them reach under their seats and pull out micro Uzis. The tension in the air felt electric. No one said anything for a long moment as we surveyed each other across the dark no-man’s land between us.
“I’m glad to see you made it,” Nikolai called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. I jumped. Next to me, Shin looked down at the ground, nervously chewing on his lip.
“Did you bring it?” the leading man asked as they strode purposefully towards us. “Where is the serum?”
“Hang on, hang on,” Nikolai said, giving them a crooked half-smile. “I need to see the money first.” He motioned with his head to his soldiers. They raised their Uzis. The leading man called out something in Arabic, and more black-clad soldiers came out of the back office, dragging dozens of heavy black bags. Nikolai and his goons walked quickly forward. I followed close behind, taking Shin’s arm and pulling him along.
Nikolai unzipped one bag. I saw it stuffed to the brim with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. The next bag over was filled with Euros, and the third with gold and diamonds. I had never seen so much money in a single place in my entire life. He kept going through each one in turn, and I saw more precious stones, all sorts of gold bars, Canadian dollars, Japanese yen and some other currencies with Arabic writing I didn’t recognize. Nikolai grunted.
“Can’t you guys ever just give us all dollars or Euros? Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to count this? And what am I supposed to do with all these diamonds? Are they marked with lasers?” Nikolai asked. Their leader shook his head furiously. Nikolai sighed. “Go get the serum.” He motioned to his goons. They practically ran to the van, desperate to get this deal over with and take their share of the profits.
Nikolai’s goons pulled out a small crate, only a foot across. I heard the jingling of many shatterproof vials stacked carefully inside. It was over 90% of our entire stockpile of serum, the fruit of many sleepless nights and many dead test subjects.
The leader called out to the little boy in Arabic. He grabbed the crate of serum, cracking the lid off with a crowbar. He looked down excitedly at the containers laid out in front of him.
I saw the leader pull one of the vials out and put it up to his eye. The liquid shone a robin’s egg blue in the headlights of the cars. It sparkled as he turned it, as if with thousands of pieces of glitter. The leader gave a short prayer in Arabic, his face splitting into a grin. He pulled out a syringe and called the boy with the balaclava over.
“Hey, you should wait until we leave to…” Nikolai protested, but the leader waved him off. Without a moment of hesitation, he filled the syringe with the serum, raised the boy’s sleeve and injected it into his arm. He spoke a few words in Arabic, and the boy responded, nodding, still smiling. Then his face began to change.
The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His hands clenched into fists, the fingernails biting deep grooves into his skin. Blood trickled down onto the floor. He started to turn blue, falling down on his back with a thud and a woosh of air, seizing and kicking. The men in the balaclavas started shouting at us, raising their guns. I put my hands up.
“Wait!” I cried, and surprisingly, they did. Only the boy’s choking, gurgling cries broke the silence. The leader looked at me expectantly. “The transformation takes a minute. This is expected.” The leader nodded, looking back at his men and raising his finger. They lowered their rifles. Nikolai wiped a heavy trickle of sweat out of his eyes. His gaze flitted from me to the boy and back again, like some sort of deadly metronome. I knew if the boy died, I would die also.
The boy had gone silent, his lips turning blue, his pupils dilating. He gave one last choking death rattle and went still. I checked my watch, raising a finger like I had seen the leader do.
“Ten seconds,” I said. The room had gone deathly silent. All I could hear was the frantic thudding of my heart within its cage of bones. “Five seconds.” I counted down, praying to a God I didn’t believe in for this to work.
The boy jerked, taking a deep breath. His eyelids fluttered open. I saw his eyes had turned pure white. He grinned, showing off the many twisted, vampiric teeth jutting out of his blackened gums. With a hiss, he pushed himself off the ground, flying through the air and landing on his feet ten feet away.
“So thirsty,” the boy growled in a demonic voice. His lifeless eyes flitted towards one of Nikolai’s goons. In a blur, he jumped across the room and landed on the hulking figure.
The man tried to fire his Uzi at the boy, but the boy swatted it out of his hand without the slightest indication of effort. Hanging off the man’s chest like some giant tick, the boy grinned down at him and then bit deeply into his neck. A torrent of bright-red blood rushed out, soaking into the man’s suit. I could hear the boy’s throat working as he drank furiously, sucking each precious gulp of blood with fluttering eyelids.
“Kill him!” Nikolai screamed. Automatic rifle fire rang out from all around me. I couldn’t tell who was shooting or at what. Screaming, I ran and crawled under the panel van. I waited, my ears ringing. Another burst of gunfire rang out and then rapidly got cut off. I saw a body fall only a few feet to my right. I looked over and saw Nikolai laying there, staring blankly ahead with sightless eyes, his throat torn out. I started whimpering, trying to cover my mouth to keep any sounds from coming out.
I heard soft footsteps approaching. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my own death.
Yet a moment later, I heard the shrieking of metal. I waited a few moments and opened my eyes, seeing street light stream in. I waited with bated breath, not believing it. A few minutes later, after I still hadn’t heard anything, I crawled out from under the van, checking all around me for any signs of movement.
Everyone was dead. I saw Nikolai and his goons with their throats torn out. Some of the black-clad men had their hearts ripped out of their chests, the bones jutting out like razor-wire around the edges of the cavernous wounds. My brother Shin had his head twisted all the way around, the skin spiraling up in a nightmarish way. I bent over and retched, my mind swimming in these disturbing visions of mutilation and gore.
I looked at the entrance and saw the boy had ripped the locked door off its hinges and walked out into the tropical night. And then it struck me. I was free.
I looked back at the money, laughing and dancing. I grabbed a bag of the cash, feeling just how heavy it was. I marveled at the stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside, each fresh and new, smelling like hopes and dreams.
A shadow fell over me. In the doorway, I saw the boy. His clothes hung in tatters around his rapidly changing body. As I watched him, he grew taller, his arms and legs lengthening. His tanned, Middle Eastern skin lightened until it shone like bleached bones. Claws ripped their way out of his fingers and toes. His cheekbones rose into prominent bulges as his face seemed to sink in on itself. All the hair on his body fell out as his mouth opened and a sound came out, either a laugh or a shriek. I couldn’t tell which, and I guessed it didn’t matter anymore.
The ten-foot-tall vampiric abomination stood before me, gruesome and emaciated with teeth like nails and claws like razor blades. I stepped back, terrified and pleading for my life.
“Please, please, don’t kill me,” I said. “My wife is pregnant. She is back at the…” In a frenzy, the abomination ran forward and slashed at me. I felt an icy numbness run across my arm. Looking down in shock and horror, I saw the monster’s claws had slashed through the meat, all the way down to the bone. Four deep gouges ran through my flesh.
The monster growled, shaking the floor. My life flashed before my eyes as it advanced, opening its mouth and showing far too many twisted, razor-sharp teeth. Its breath smelled like dead meat. My eyes watered.
And then a man yelled something in Cambodian. A dozen other voices followed. The creature and I both turned. Dozens of police in SWAT gear sprinted into the warehouse, all pointing their guns at the creature. It hissed and spat at them, jumping onto the nearest one and biting at his face-shield. I heard it crack like the snapping of bones. A moment later, the police officer’s face exploded in a fountain of blood and gore as the creature’s dozens of teeth ground into his head.
The police opened fire on the creature. I ran towards the back of the warehouse, praying I would find another exit there and find a way out of this chaos and bloodshed. In the darkness, I saw the red lights of a fire door. I pushed my way through it and found myself in a fetid alleyway. The sound of automatic rifle fire and men screaming in agony followed me down the street as I ran.
I escaped that monster, but I fear for the future. Because there’s a lot more serum coming, and I know from experience that Bureau 39 will sell it to any buyer.

Part 4! Time for Mavu and Thomas to go on a field trip!
[first][prev]
In all of Thomas’ life, including his years of travel in and out of Terran occupied space as both a contract and freelance engineer, he had never been to a production world before. Yet here he stood on the observation deck of the interplanetary shuttle, gazing out over an endless field of sleek black metal pillars belching flames into the sky, with millions of laborers and machines working non-stop to forge a myriad of different devices and pieces of what would one day be warships and orbital stations. There was a beauty to the fluid motions below, a beating heart that held the rhythm of the endless churning of mills and conveyors. As much as he desired to watch the hypnotic display of ever-pulsing fabricators, he knew that the dock below would soon see that they land and disembark.
A voice from behind him confirmed his intuition in a familiar tired sigh.
“The captain says that we will be tethering in five minutes, and not a moment sooner."
Thomas turned around only to find himself a few short inches away from the speaker, or more accurately the tire they were wearing. Correcting his gaze, he instead locked eyes with the winged Chorilaun that he was assisting more frequently. Mavu blinked slowly, her expressionless stare being universally translated to a feeling of disdain for traveling. He made a note of how she looked a shade or two lighter and in an odd way somewhat orange.
"That's not too bad. How are you holding up, jump-sickness aside?"
Mavu responded by making a 'blegh' sound while finding a seat by the window. From her inside pocket she retrieved a small package of chalky blue tablets, from which she released two into her mouth and crunched them in her teeth. "I don't get it, Tom. How come every species of the Syndicate has some magic cure-all for mundane illnesses, except for mine? Your people were able to get rid of jump sickness after just a year of having stable jump drives, and yet it's been over a hundred for us and I'm stuck taking anti-acid tablets so I hopefully don't make a mess."
All he could do was shrug and sit next to her, an offering of a simple water flask in his hands. He didn't say it, but her teeth were now covered in blue specks. "I dunno, my money is on it being a medical knowledge thing. We were able to narrow down the cause and effect fairly quickly because we had already cracked our own genome sequence some twenty years before FTL, and that was after a few centuries of tearing it down piece by piece. I mean no offense when I say this, but wasn't it only two hundred years ago when your species was shot from the pre-industrial age right into science fiction by a crashed spaceship? Accidental uplift business is messy, and it can't help that of all things it was a warship that crashed and not something good like a research vessel or a cargo cruiser. Your species just hasn’t had the time to figure it out yet.”
Mavu simply scoffed as she downed the entire bottle in one breath. "No offense taken, especially since you're right. One downed ship with an advanced AI inside sent our technological progress in the weapons department forward by thousands of years, but left us culturally and socially inept in things like medicine or philosophy. We're lucky that the GTS stepped in and stopped us from using WMDs to settle clan disputes. They tried so hard to get us to calm down and think rationally, even as we blindly fired missiles at them. It's only through sheer unwavering kindness that we managed to integrate at all. We cannot say that it has been smooth going, but at least we have made progress.”
Her wings seemed to shudder for a moment, causing her to glance at the entrance door. Not a moment later there came a hiss as the pressure sealed doorway unbolted from the bulkhead and swung inside. From across the PA came a deep rumble that was supposedly the voice of their captain.
"All passengers, you may now disembark the vessel."
The two of them got up from their seats and followed the small crowd that was shuffling out of the door, both ensuring that all of their belongings were on hand. From there it was only a short walk down a hallway and two flights of stairs until they were outside in the remarkably chilly air where they already had an automatic shuttle waiting for them. Few words were exchanged between them on the ride to their temporary lodging, which was a decent hotel room with galactic standard amenities, or on the ride to the site of their interview at the local Bureau office. Despite being on a planet nearly 300 light years away, the building was almost exactly the same on the inside.
Soon enough they both entered the interview chamber, though by Mavu's watch they were early, and could rest for a moment. The past few hours had been taxing for the large woman, and she could hardly wait for this order to be over. She rubbed a hand at the space between her eyes, her head pounding from the stress.
A hand wrapped around her arm that was lying on the table, which was none other than Thomas'. "Are you gonna be alright? You've been pale since we landed and rubbing at your head for a while now."
"Honestly, I'm not sure. Usually the worst of these symptoms passes after an hour or so, but this instance is persistent to say the least. Perhaps I’m actually coming down with something. Thank you for your concern, my friend.” She couldn't help but give him a weak smile. Humans were respected for their compassion and empathy for all others, even strangers, so having one show concern was somehow refreshing compared to the usual attitude of other races.
Thomas frowned as he pulled his data pad out from his pocket. One quick inquiry to the galactic information system, and he had answers to his questions. His posture softened as he turned the screen so she could see. "Check it out, you can safely take some human medicine. A couple headache pills and an antihistamine should get you right and peppy."
From his personal bag he produced these exact items and took out the recommended dose the website suggested. Mavu noticed that the page was from the Terran Medical Information branch of their government. Despite the sheer absurdity of it, she trusted that the pills were harmless. "How is it that your kind knows more about every other species than even they know, and why?"
"We usually ask for volunteers to participate in non-invasive scans whenever they want to visit the surface of one of our core worlds, and sometimes during medical checkups and doctor’s visits we offer them a complimentary scan for planetside pathogens and immunology tests then ask for permission to keep the data for future reference. The more you know about your friends, the easier it is to take care of them, patch them up, cater to diets and make programs for nanotech mattresses so they can sleep easier. As for how we know more, we just had to learn the hard way about the dangers of unprotected first contact. That’s why Terran medical scanners are second to none, we never want to be caught off guard again.
The logic was sound, though something in the back of her mind remained convinced that there was an ulterior motive of nefarious design. There was a bit of worry in her mind as she thought of the possible ways such medical insight into the inner workings of every species could be misused, such as the development of bioweapons or training soldiers on where to shoot creatures in order to rupture vital organs. This thought didn't last as the sudden wave of relief cascaded through her. Every bit of fatigue, dizziness, and nausea was washed away by an oddly cool sensation, as well as a strange licorice taste suddenly making itself known. "I'm…I feel better. Just what was in those pills?"
He chuckled while giving her a warm smile. "Nothing I wouldn't take myself any time I get a migraine. The trick is in the nanites, made to distribute the meds as quickly as possible while also ensuring that the effect remains for the full ten hours. They also serve a few other purposes, especially if you have a medical implant for monitoring vitals or to automatically flush the medicine out of you if they detect an overdose or negative reaction. Not exactly a miracle cure-all, but it’s what I have on hand.”
The idea of a self regulating medicine was an alien concept for Mavu. Her own clutch-mates still relied on herbs and natural remedies, or in some cases expensive surgery to regain their health. She nodded a silent thanks to her friend, since she could feel the approach of someone beyond the opposite entryway.
Three knocks came from the metal plated door before a rather bulky Qo’Gian strode into the room. She was perhaps just as tall as Thomas, though roughly three times as wide due to her dense musculature. Her single oily black eye rolled around in its socket as she surveyed the room and its occupants, a look of irritation smeared across her pale lips. With a single motion she pulled the chair across from the interviewers around herself and planted herself firmly on its cushioning. Mavu had only just opened her mouth to speak when the woman across from her cut her off with a vaguely slavic accent.
“Rychin Turronocht, district one-oh-eight production overseer, reporting for government mandated case assessment regarding one of my current contracts. I vould appreciate it if ve could get through this as quickly as possible.”
Though her attitude was far from professional, Mavu was duty-bound to maintain her business appearances. All emotion vanished from her features as she addressed her equally impassionate client. “I hereby invoke the rite of justifiable honesty and information integrity. As per the Laws of Governance, you are to swear an oath of honesty and integrity. Any misinformation of deceit will be used against you in a multi-species court of law. Penalties may incur a sentence of twenty to thirty solar rotations within penal colony J-33035, a fee of no less than ten million United Credits, and demeritment and social outcasting per your release. Please confirm your understanding and vow.”
“Understood. I vow to be honest, and I accept these terms. Let’s get this over vith.”
Mavu nodded to Thomas, who accessed the network for the interview chamber. This particular office did not have an independent intelligence matrix like the one where they had met, so the functions of the facility had to be activated manually. A few rapid keystrokes later the room began to shift and clunk as devices of every kind deployed in a wide arc around the center table. Thomas gave a thumbs up, a sign that everything was now operating. Mavu looked back to Rychin and began her questioning. “Miss Turronocht, I require you to explain in your own words the details of your current production contract held with the Irrinthaw Dominion military forces. State the product, the nature of its creation, and the export rate.”
The Qo’Gian rolled her eye in frustration as she practically growled out the words she spoke. “Ugh, I knew that contract was burutkag the moment I saw it.” She paused for a moment as she took a deep breath. “The deal is held by one of their blue-crowned nobles, though I cannot say vich due to confidentiality clause. They vanted a steady supply of nanite bullets, the kind that eats the armor of big targets and the structure of buildings all the same. Our lines assembled these rounds per their specifications, using the older model nine nanites housed vithin tventy-five millimeter tungsten casing propelled by electronic magnet rifle. Ve make more than one hundred thousand shells per five cycle veek, in addition to the rifles and cannons that fire them.”
Mavu gestured to Thomas, who had taken from his briefcase a small vessel containing one of these shells, as well as his holo-projector displaying the torn-down assembly of both weapon and ammunition. He handed the shell to the woman across the table, then set about configuring the rest of his display silently as Mavu continued the interview. “Is the object now in your possession a product of your facility?”
She took hold of the tungsten bar and rotated it until she had observed every surface. “Undoubtedly. The rear of the round bears our company mark, as vell as the pointed tip made for armor piercing properties that ve vwere asked to include despite being unnecessary. This one is unused, though I can tell that the nanites are no longer inside.” She tapped the shell against the edge of the table with a hollow thunk, then set it on its side in front of her.
Thomas eyed the round carefully, then produced a folder from his case and pulled a page from it. “Continuing along this line of questioning, might I inquire as to what components these rounds use? My documents here confirm the exact payload weight and items found within, but I need to hear in your own words what pieces were used.”
Rychin’s eye narrowed as the looked at the human, though she remained calm and civil despite her glowering. “As I said, per their specifications ve made the shells as they asked. One control module, one main power system, and one director chip vith each svarm of nanites. Before you ask, yes, test vere done on these shells to enusre they vorked even after impact. There should be no issue there.” With a huff she crossed her arms and pouted as the agents took notes.
Mavu glanced to Thomas and the case he had, and when she got an approving nod she reached into the protective carrier and extracted two more of the tungsten rods that were in varying states of disassembly. One appeared to have been cut into from the side and was missing a length of its outer shell extending from the front end to the rear end, while the other appeared to be heavily bent and deformed as though it had made impact at high speed on its pointed end and flattened out. She placed the two rounds beside the first with a video projector behind them, then with a slight frown turned her attention to the woman across from her. “Miss Turronocht, would you please take a look at these items and tell me what they are?”
The stocky alien took the new objects and inspected them thoroughly, narrating her observations on the damaged shell first. “They’re more of our ammunition. This one had already been used, and looks like it hit a very hard surface. Nanite deployment was successful, as evident by the holes in the flat side of this shell. As for this one, it is just one of our products that had been cut open.” She slid the rounds back towards Mavu, her expression becoming more irritable. “Everything looks fine, vhy even ask me about this?”
Finger interlocked with one another, Mavu locked her eyes onto the singular eye of the cycloptic being before her. “I would ask that you inspect this evidence again and put more attention towards the inner workings of the shell that has been opened.” A look of confusion crossed Rychin’s face, but Mavu remained stoic and silently made it clear that this wasn’t actually a request.
Muttering to herself, the overseer snatched up the opened shell and proceeded to push her fingers into the open shell through the gel-like mass of dormant nanites. Suddenly her hands stopped, and she had to speak aloud what it was she was thinking. “There is the battery, and there is the control nexus… vhere is the director chip?” A realization of what this meant hit her, and she slowly set the round back on the table with a heavy sigh. “Oh burutkag.”
“Yes, that is the issue we find ourselves facing today, Miss Turronocht.” Mavu reached forward and placed a finger on the video player, activating the device and causing a green-blue screen to appear in the air right above the table. On the screen was a collection of still images of buildings and vehicles lying in ruin, drenched in a shimmering silver liquid that was the nanites. Beside the images was a video file playing a replay of the liquid tearing its way through everything it made contact with, then as it found more of itself spilled on the ground it would surge forth from that spot with renewed vigor. “Thomas, could you explain what is happening in these files?”
The human looked up from his file and hastily explained, “Rampant nanite swarms. When active, nanites operate on the programmed path of destroying everything they make physical contact with that is larger than a certain size, then when they either run out of power or get the shutoff code they all return to being dormant until recollected or reprogrammed. Loose nanites that are connected to the powered swarm and given power through contact activate and join the swarm, potentially causing a cascade event.”
Mavu nodded her thanks, then took hold of the cut open shell from the table. “Miss Turronocht, as I am led to believe there is a component from this shell that is missing. Could you-”
She was cut off by Rychin, who hastily spat out an explanation in a thick tone of annoyance. “The director chip is missing, vhich meant that the nanites never disengaged. The director carries the shut off code and tells the nanites vhen to stop, even if they still have power and are destroying a target.” One of the overseer’s hands was now covering her singular eye, rubbing at the eyelid in frustration. “Vhithout the director the shell is a hazard, I know this.”
There was a brief pause as Mavu set the three shells back in their case, then she resumed undeterred. “As per the regulations of micro-robotics technology, any and all forms of nanomachine ammunition that do not contain a self-deactivation program or mechanism that renders spent munitions inoperable or inactive are considered to be weapons of mass destruction, terror weapons, and environmental safety hazards. Were these weapons to continue production and distribution to be used in conflicts, the unreclaimed nanites these rounds carried would pose an extreme risk to all life and potentially cause a class 7 global extinction event in the worst of scenarios. Do you require me to outline the legal punishments that come with resumed production and distribution of these weapons?”
The overseer closed her eye and took in a deep breath, her words afterwards becoming tense, filled with frustration and pain. “No thank you. I know already.” She took a moment to calm herself while also awaiting her interviewers to speak again, then after opening her eye and looking between them she pushed the conversation back their way. “I do not understand though, vhat happened to the components? I have been assured by my district heads that we have plenty of parts for the rounds.”
Mavu was about to speak when Thomas intervened. “I’d like to explain this one, Mavu, if I may?” Mavu nodded her confirmation before the human turned to face the one eyed alien. “The bureau looked into this case in depth before we were dispatched, and it seems that your client has been bribing one of your management team to have the director chips removed during final inspection. These chips are probably having their serial numbers rearranged after removal then put back into the system to be installed again, hence why you’re probably seeing a discrepancy in the ordered units and the supplied ammo. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term ‘scrap skimming’ where you take old parts and sell them as new. This falls under that same mindset, though in this instance it seems more like the client wants a more volatile and harder to disable nanotech weapon.”
The Qo’Gian woman nodded solemnly as she crossed her arms over her chest. “An illegal veapon, one that I vould take the blame for. Is that right?”
“Correct” Mavu stated flatly, her eyes lingering on the case holding the three sample shells. “In cases like these it is commonplace for wealthy and influential individuals to manipulate documents and low ranking employees to shift the evidence towards the highest ranking member of management to taking responsibility. However, in this instance the case was opened due to the property damage caused by the private military forces of your client, thus the investigation started with the culprit and not the… scapegoat, I believe the human term is.” She glanced to Thomas to see if this was correct, and upon seeing his subtle wink she smirked in reply.
Rychin blinked a few times as the information processed in her mind, then when she understood what this meant her face brightened slightly. “You mean that skeshkiktch blue crown was trying to pin the blame on me but was caught regardless? Good, that is what his kind deserves.” She paused for a moment to look at the cases still laid out in front of the agents, then a new realization hit her and her features darkened more than they were before her momentary joy. “But what of the contract? Ve still have many tons of nanites left and a million shells on order, that is vast vealth lost if it falls through.”
Mavu anticipated that Thomas wished to be the one to bear good news, so before he even asked she nodded her approval to him. Thomas straightened his glasses with his right hand as he withdrew a stack of forms from his case with the left. “Actually, there’s something of a deficit of nanites in other applications besides war, and the bureau would like to offer you some buyers that will offer you an equal price to the contract that you’re about to cancel. This first document is a contract nullification waver that has already been signed by one Crown Prince Khokeneerom and is waiting on your signature. The next page is a summarized list of potential buyers in construction and agriculture businesses that are cleaning up the mess the prince made. Then the last page is a waste disposal site that’s always hunting for older-gen nanites to fill their vats with, as well as a shipyard that needs tungsten plates for ship repairs.”
The overseer was speechless as she flipped through the pages, but despite her inability to communicate verbally she still reached for the pen lying in front of her and signed the waiver before eagerly sliding it back to Thomas. Slowly she managed to reign herself in from her amazement to the point where she could articulate properly, then as she met the gaze of the agents across from her she bowed her head in reverence. “Thank you, I vill never forget your kindness.”
Thomas was tempted to answer, but the imposing form of Mavu looming over him as she rose from her seat told him that he ought to let her wrap things up. Mavu stood at full attention with her arms held behind her back, then turned to the opaque wall that housed the cameras and sensors to announce the end of the interview. “If you have no comments or statements to declare, then this concludes our interview. Thank you Miss Turronocht, you may leave now. Please report to the administrative office of your place of employment for further assistance and a means to contact the bureau's support agencies.”
Following her words, Rychin tucked the papers given to her under her arm and departed, the cameras and arrays dangling from the ceiling detecting her departure and retracting as they were programmed to. The two agents collected their belongings and packed their cases, then departed the building in order to catch the scheduled shuttlecraft that would take them back to their hotel room. While aboard the craft Mavu repeatedly scanned the full height of her friend, then with a soft laugh she nudged her foot against his knee, earning her a startled “what’s up?” from Thomas.
“You did well today Tom. Field work suits you more than I anticipated, and your handling of case information was efficient. Thank you for your hard work.” She reached out a hand to him and smiled, and when he took it she sighed with relief. “You’ve become a skilled agent, my friend, and I look forward to working by your side more often.”
Thomas returned her smile and her sentiments, “Same here Mavu, this whole casework deal is a hundred times better than I thought it’d be, if only because my partner is the great Mavu of Laws.” Mavu knew he was sarcastic and prodded his chest in response, causing him to laugh while tossing himself back into the shuttle chair. “You know, all this talk of tiny robots makes me want a big meal. Want to get a few pizzas and binge watch the last season of Duel of Dragons? After we write up our report that is?”
Mavu pondered for a moment, then shrugged. “Although it goes against my better judgment, I suggest a different course of action. We can watch the remainder of that silly show of yours tonight and fill out the report on the ride home tomorrow.”
The human’s jaw was hanging wide open in mock surprise, “Dear me! Mavu prioritizing relaxation before work? It must be the end times! Quickly, grab hold of something before we suddenly crash!”
His second instance of sarcasm in the shuttle was met with a firmer, more pointed jab from her wing this time, but also a smile to match his. “Hush, or this will be the last time we ever perform field work together.” She watched his reaction to ensure that her own lie was understood, and when he rolled his eyes and began smiling out the window she nodded to herself with glee. She was happy to have a human friend, especially one that allowed her to be more than the Mavu of Laws she once was. She too found herself staring out the window of the shuttle as it streaked through the sky over the ever sprawling factories and foundries below, a soft smile on her face.

First...Previous
​
Colonist Booker Smith
UNS Lightbringer
Bones scattered about on the ground like twigs crunched beneath our boot heels as the three of us guided our alien prisoner deeper into the isolated skinlands. John remained on high alert throughout the journey, swiveling his gun’s barrel toward all manner of unfamiliar sounds; just because we took out all the soldiers we saw didn’t mean there could be no more. Even without such a possibility, this place nevertheless contained sufficient nightmare fuel to keep us on edge.
Though by no means inattentive to the potential dangers all around us, much of Emma’s attention remained firmly affixed to our captive extraterrestrial. “How much do you know about it already?” She asked me in hushed English—loud enough for our comrade to hear, but too quiet to draw significant attention from anything that wasn’t already aware of us.
“Well…” I breathed, mentally sorting out the information into easily digestible bits before at last deigning to reply. “He says his name is Theruf. His species is called the Phylix, and this particular nation is a form of autocracy headed by someone called the Sovereign Chairman. So far, that's about all I can say for sure."
"It's a start, at least..." Em shrugged, watching with detached disinterest as John continued his sweep of the area around us, damn-near putting a bullet in one of the skin trees that dared to cough in our presence. Though more relaxed by comparison, never for a moment did Emma's grip falter with regards to her own gun.
Theruf for his part remained silent throughout the journey, speaking nary a word until at last the Lightbringer came into view. “Great Eri protect me,” he breathed, looking upon the massive ship with eyes widened by disbelief. “What is that thing?”
“What?” Asked John sarcastically, grabbing the alien by his arm before beginning to march him up the entry ramp. “Never seen a spaceship before?”
Finally putting two and two together regarding our origins, Theruf looked upon the lot of us with newfound horror. “Aliens!” He gasped, the revelation momentarily renewing his struggle against the bindings as our security trooper herded him into the airlock. “You’re aliens!”
“Correct,” I conceded to him, stepping into the airlock alongside Em before pulling the lever to seal us inside the ship proper. “Though from our perspective, you’re an alien! An alien whose life hinges on how useful he can be to us…”
“What are you going to do to me?” Asked Theruf, the hard edge to his voice clearly underpinned by terror. Honestly, if he hadn’t been guarding that work camp just a few hours prior, I might’ve felt some measure of guilt for our use of intimidation tactics against him. Given the circumstances, however, my pity was in short supply.
"Shut up," growled our remaining security trooper in Phylix language, casting upon Theruf the glare of a man well-versed in taking life. "You'll speak when spoken to, and not a goddamn word more, understand?”
“Yes…” Mumbled our new captive, what little resistance he had had before unequivocally quashed beneath the weight of John’s implied threat.
Having seen us enter on the ship’s security cameras, Lewis was quick to intercept our little posse, jogging down the hallway toward us with shocking haste for someone his age. “Who the fuck is that?” He asked, jabbing an almost accusatory finger in Theruf’s direction. “What happened to Boris? And where did you lot get another Human?”
“Boris is dead and this isn’t a Human,” John stated bluntly, producing a utility knife from his pocket and with surprising precision dragging it across Theruf’s cheek to leave behind a shallow cut. Our prisoner’s pupils jolted in the direction of his new wound as thick, amber colored liquid began to seep forth from it.
“Dear God…” Whispered the captain, taking a step forth to further analyze this extraterrestrial specimen. “And you say this thing killed our fellow colonist?”
I nodded, holding out Theruf’s pistol sideways with my fingers wrapped around its main body so as to give Lewis a better view of the implement. “Shot the poor bastard clean through his faceplate with this."
"How much intel do we have on them?" Lewis asked, nodding toward our speechless captive with an expression somewhere between curious and fearful.
"Not enough,“ confessed our security trooper with a shoulder-heaving sigh. “What I do know is that we need to thaw out more security, ASAP. I’ll explain everything else on our way to the captain's console.”
Clearing her throat in an ultimately successful bid for the crew’s collective attention, it was Em who next interjected. “If I recall correctly, there should be lab equipment in the medbay,” she told us, grabbing Theruf’s arm and gesturing for me to follow along. “Booker: you can interrogate him while I run some sample tests.”
Silently agreeing with Emma’s judgment, John and Lewis voiced no resistance to this plan as I followed her through the Lightbringer’s halls, passing by hundreds of still-active cryopods on my way to our ship’s miniature clinic. Each and every one of the near two-thousand other passengers here was relying on us to ensure their safety upon this alien world. Hopefully, we were up to the task.
“Where are you taking me?” Theruf growled, his courage apparently bolstered by John’s absence. I’ll readily admit that some not-insignificant part of me had been looking for an excuse to strike the reeducation camp guard; nevertheless, I managed to resist the temptation. Now that we actually wanted him talking, the game had changed.
Entering the medbay just a few steps behind Em, I made sure to keep my gun firmly trained upon our alien prisoner whilst she directed him to take a seat on one of the gurneys. Though Theruf was initially hesitant to following my comrade’s orders, it didn’t take much more than a glance down the pistol’s barrel to understand that his options were lethally limited. “Okay… Okay…” He murmured placatingly, approaching one of the medical beds before taking a seat at its foot. "What is it you wish to know?"
"First off, tell us about the political landscape of this planet," I commanded him. Across the room from us, Emma rummaged through various drawers and cabinets full up with medical equipment. I wasn’t sure at that time exactly what she was looking for, but for the moment it was largely irrelevant to my questioning. “Who are the big players on this world’s stage?”
Momentarily pondering my foreign analogy, Theruf soon enough got the gist of what I was asking and responded in kind. “Ever since the Governance War [50 years] ago, our planet Rhodos has had two major superpowers: Sovereign Ghodeth and the Jidik People’s Collective. You are currently trespassing on Ghodeth territory: a glorious fascist state flourishing under the diligent guidance of our Chairman!”
“And what about Jidik?” I asked him, curious regarding the nature of his nation’s opposition. Perhaps, I reasoned, if Humanity could get into contact with a less oppressive power, we might be able to help them against Ghodeth.
“Filthy communists, the lot of them!” Theruf practically spat, casting a nervous glance back towards Em as she produced from one of the cabinets a box of surgical supplies. “Our nations were allies during the Governance War, working together out of a mutual distaste for the corrupt blight of democracy. Once the Coalition of Republics was defeated, however, they were quick to betray us—stealing our nuclear weapon blueprints and building up an arsenal for ‘self-defense purposes’. We’ve been in a silent war with them ever since.”
“Interesting… How do you think your leadership would react to us? What are they liable to do if we show ourselves peacefully?”
“I can’t rightly say…” Sighed Theruf, lingering in silence for a long moment as though weighing the risks of continuance. “We’ve never encountered lifeforms from beyond Rhodos. Our scientists will be blooming for the chance to vivisect you.”
Curse my vivid imagination. The mere thought of such a fate befalling we remnants of Humanity was in itself more than sufficient to make my skin crawl. Try as I might have to maintain an unbothered air, it was clear by Theruf’s fearful reaction that I was failing rather miserably. “Your truthfulness is appreciated,” I reassured him, attempting to calm the alien’s nerves so as to better facilitate the answers we sought. “I assume you’ve got some questions for us too: how about you go ahead and ask me one.”
“What do you want with this planet?” He asked, his gaze breaking away from my own and locking for some reason upon my hairline.
Had such a query been posed to me earlier by one of my fellow refugees, the answer would have been simple: our goal was to establish a colony here for the continuation of mankind. Now, however, I wasn’t so sure. No matter where we settled, it would surely only be a matter of time before we were discovered by Phylix civilization, and we didn’t have nearly enough people nor guns to properly fight them. “We’ve arrived here in search of a new home following the total collapse of our homeworld, Earth.”
At last finding the tool she had been looking for all this time, Em turned away from the supply cabinets and began to approach our prisoner with a pair of surgical scissors. It was at this point that sheer panic returned to his eyes. “What are those for?” He demanded, glancing toward the doorway as though contemplating whether or not to make a run for it.
“Relax!” Emma shrugged, sauntering past his field of view and from behind grabbing a lock of his hair. “I’m just getting a DNA sample.”
“Wait!” Theruf begged, struggling fruitlessly against my ally as she held him still in preparation to make the cut. “I’ll give you anything you want! I-I’ll tell you everything I know, just please don’t—”
Ignoring these pleas for mercy, Em positioned a few strands of Theruf’s hair between the scissor blades and snipped them together. What followed was a piercing shriek of pure agony the likes of which I had never heard before. Startled by this sound, my fellow colonist relinquished her grasp upon our prisoner as he fell back onto the medical bed and proceeded to writhe in pain.
“Whydidyoudothat?” Theruf blubbered nigh-incoherently, wriggling free from his binds and clutching the area of his head from which Em’s sample had been taken.
Largely ignoring the alien fascist’s misery, I stepped toward Emma and held out my hand expectantly. “Let me see one of those hairs…” I requested, gently accepting a strand from my friend’s gloved grasp and rolling it between my fingers. “It’s a lot thicker than what Humans have: do you think it has pain receptors?”
“I’d say it’s reasonably possible…” Em half-whispered, looking upon our prisoner’s tortured expression with a newfound glimmer of empathy in her eyes. “I have a theory, but I’ll need a few minutes to test it. In the meantime, see if you can find some painkillers for him: ethical concerns aside, he’s no use to us like this.”
“On it.” I replied, easing open a nearby medicine cabinet reaching inside to sift through its contents. Perhaps were he not incapacitated by pain, Theruf might have taken this as an opportunity to bolt. Luckily for us, he wasn't going anywhere in his condition. Eventually finding within the medicine cabinet a mostly-full bottle of opiate pills, I plucked out two of them and approached our alien prisoner with my palm outstretched in mercy. "These should help with the pain..."
Without a moment's hesitation or even a drop to drink, Theruf snatched up the pills from my hand and shoved them down his gullet with reckless abandon before collapsing back onto the bed. "Thank... You..." He whimpered through gritted teeth.
Following what must have been a minute straight of uncomfortable silence, the sound of boots echoing down our ship's cryopod hall drew my attention towards the doorway. Sure enough, John stepped through mere moments later. “What the hell is happening in here?” He asked in English, his gaze soon falling upon Theruf. “You two do know physical torture isn’t a reliable method of interrogation, right?”
“I wasn’t trying to torture him,” shrugged Emma, retrieving a microscope from one of the cabinets and setting it down beside the sink. “All we did was snip a lock of his hair.”
Once Theruf’s pain had sufficiently subsided to allow for normal-ish speech, John took the opportunity to interrogate this alien for himself, sitting down beside him on the medical bed and regarding him with an earnest smile. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot here,” he began, extending his hand for the alien to shake—a gesture which evidently confused Theruf. “My names Johnathan Fernsby. You can call me John.”
“A pleasure, John…” The alien growled sarcastically, leering down with suspicion at the security trooper’s outstretched hand.
Momentarily turning away from Theruf with a quizzical expression on his face, Fernsby spoke to me in English. “Have you learned anything interesting about the Phylix since we split?”
“They’re currently in the midst of a cold war,” I replied with a shrug, casting an awkward glance toward the captive before continuing. “The two superpowers in question are fascist and communist. Our friend here is a citizen of the former, and from what he’s told me, democracy’s all-but-dead here.”
“Not ideal…” Admitted the trooper before once again adopting the alien’s tongue. “Tell me, Mr. Alien. What exactly were you and your people doing out here in this… Uh… ‘Forest’.”
Again crying out in discomfort, our prisoner clutched tightly at his skull before responding. “Was guarding nearby reeducation camp… Middle of seeding nowhere… Saw something big crash in woods… Captain took me and others with him to investigate!”
Perhaps it was just the result of pain overwhelming his thoughts, but something in the way Theruf spoke sounded strained: like he was struggling to recall the events leading up to this.
Across the room from us three, Emma audibly gasped as she peered down her microscope at our collected sample. “This isn’t hair…” She told us, staring back at the alien in awe of this discovery. “It’s roots!”
“Are you… Are you a plant?” Asked John, his eyes wide with shock.
“Yes…” Theruf affirmed, looking upon us with an expressing of shock mirroring our own. “And you’re [rough translation: animals], aren’t you? That’s why your sap is red: because it’s not sap—it’s blood!”
“Indeed we are…” Revealed Em in his language before turning towards John and I to continue in our own. “If these roots are anything like those of normal plants, then that means we probably just cut out part of his brain!”
I’m not entirely sure what I had been expecting when I first signed up for this mission, but watching our resident botanist give an alien an impromptu lobotomy most certainly wasn’t in my top ten predictions. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” I asked my fellow colonists, taking note of their similarly uncertain expressions. Trapped on a hostile alien planet, our discovery and subsequent destruction or subjugation by the natives was only a matter of time.
“Not a fuckin’ clue,” John confessed, his words utterly saturated with emotions: anger, sadness, and defeat chief among them. “Maybe we can convince the leadership of this area to harbor us. If we’re lucky, they might be willing to cut a deal…”
Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror hung above the sink, Theruf suddenly broke out into a heaving, cough-like noise my Cogitolink interpreted as a sob. “I don’t even recognize myself…” He whimpered, running his fingers along the area of his head from which Em had carved out a tuft of his ‘hair’. “How will mother know it’s me?”
“Your… Face?” I shrugged awkwardly, unsure of what our prisoner was getting at with this line of thought. When finally the realization struck me, it didn’t pull its punch. “Wait a minute: your kind recognize each other by their root patterns?”
“Y-yes…” He confirmed, sparking within my mind the embers of an idea which before long grew into a raging inferno as I thought back to the schlocky old sci-fi movies me and my father used to watch together.
When at last my gaze landed beside the sink and upon that pair medical scissors Emma had used to collect her sample, I knew precisely what to do next. Without a word to my fellow colonists, I strode confidently toward the mirror and from beneath it plucked up into my left hand the implement of a hairdresser's profession. Then, making sure to keep Theruf within my periphery, I dutifully set to work on my own mane.
Watching with wide eyes as I sliced away extraneous lengths of my own hair, our alien captive looked like he was going to be sick. It wasn't until after the fact when I turned around to face him directly, however, that his expression shifted from one of disgust to pure, abject terror. "You... You look like me!" He gasped, visibly unsettled by our apparent similarity. Though our facial structures differed significantly, it was clear by the way our friend spoke that the Phylix had no such eye for detail. "You... You monsters mutilated me and stole my appearance!"
"Really?" Asked John, cocking his head at me as though searching for the resemblance that from a Human perspective simply wasn't there. Emma, on the other hand, seemed to recognize almost immediately what I was plotting.
"Guys..." I grinned, admiring the sheen of my implement interspersed with small flecks of brown hair drizzled across its sparkling surface. "I think I have an idea for how Humanity can survive on this planet..."
"Come on then; spit it out!" John demanded impatiently, still not quite getting it. This was by no means going to be an 'honorable' strategy. It was dirty, underhanded, and downright diabolical. That being said, the deck was so stacked against us that playing fair simply wasn't a luxury mankind could be afforded.
"Have you guys ever seen those classic body snatcher movies?"

First / Previous / Next
Kerry knew better than to duck when the vase was thrown. Luckily, it struck her shoulder instead of her head. Even more luckily, it managed to snag on one of the buttons of her uniform so it shattered. She worried what would have happened to her if it had just bounced off harmlessly.
"Pick that up!" The Empress screamed.
Kerry bent low and started scooping up the pieces of vase. It was from Earth, and easily a thousand years old. Priceless. The Imperial bedroom was floor to ceiling packed with more gimcrackery than Kerry had ever seen. Most of it was worth more than she'd ever see in her life. A broken priceless vase was only a drop in the proverbial priceless bucket. Another attendant bent down to help her, but the Empress snapped her fingers.
"No, not you. She has to do it on her own."
Saying sorry with her eyes, the other attendant stood back up and remained at attention. This had been going on all day. All week really. Everyone at the palace was walking on eggshells. The Empress was in a mood most foul.
Empress Meredith The 3rd was not having a good year. Early on, she lost three Super Dreadnoughts to something. Something nobody has been able to properly explain, even with high amounts of encouragement. The only thing anyone knows is that Dreams of Hyacinth was destroyed and took out the other two Supers - her three oldest ones! - on the final approach to Minaren. The damned K'laxi - useless, all of them - have no idea who did it, no person or group has stepped forward to claim responsibility, nothing. Ships don't explode for no reason, she shouted at her Admiralty, but they had the temerity to explain that yes, sometimes they do. Starships are large, complicated machines and even with the highest quality maintenance - something that may not have been carried out at all times (the Admiral with a known death wish stated this) - they can explode for no reason.
The K'laxi had even questioned a frigate that was passing by at the time, but they didn't see anything, and the K'laxi didn't think it was worth their time to execute or even imprison the captain of the frigate. They asked them if they had seen anything - of course they hadn't - and let them go on their way. Useless!
If that was not bad enough - and it was - Meredith discovered 5 weeks ago that she didn't have a connection with the Nanites anymore. She could implore them to answer her questions all she wanted; silence was their only reply. She tried to use her Voice on her attendants and while they rushed to obey her whims, they did not do it with the absolute robotic precision they used when they were Voiced. So far only her most inner circles of handmaidens, attendants, valets and other hangers on knew. Her Admirals had no idea and none of the Venusian nobility knew, and she was keenly aware that it had to stay that way.
She stood up from her couch and paced her room. This was supposed to be easy! You walk around, you give some orders, you open a new hospital or school, smile and wave for the sensorium and that was it. Then back to the Palace for some well-earned sex with whoever was her flavor of the week and a big dinner. She was facing the impossible. Intrigue. Politics. The Unknown.
One of the handmaidens standing to the side of her bed held out a goblet, half full of a burgundy liquid. Meredith snatched at the wine and drank greedily. She knew how to sip demurely, but behind closed doors she could be herself. Belching, she handed the crystal goblet - also worth more than the handmaiden made in a whole year - back and waited for it to be refilled. This time she drank it more slowly as she paced.
"They're not listening. They can't hear me? They won't hear me? What's going on? I've been a good Empress. I've done all the right things. Kerry!" Kerry's head snapped up and she stood rapidly. The pieces of vase in her uniform shirt lifted up like a basket. "What am I doing wrong?"
"I'm sure you're not doing anything wrong, Empress."
"Then why did they leave?!" Kerry and the others saw then that Meredith wasn't just furious. She was deathly afraid. As if for the first time, she saw Kerry's uniform. "Why is your uniform like that, Kerry? What are you holding?"
"Er, it's the vase you threw at me. You ordered me to pick it up."
Meredith blinked back tears. "And you did? Did the Voice work?"
"Ah, no Empress. I was following regular orders that you gave me."
"Why did you do that?"
Kerry blinked. "Because... this is my job?" She said very slowly.
Empress Meredith stood very slowly. The four women in the room watched her as she strode to the main entrance to her bedchamber, and locked the door. She strode to the servants' entrance and locked that door. She lifted up her mattress and pressed a palm against the lock in the center; the escape hatch, and it beeped happily at her.
She walked into the pantry and brought out 5 bottles of wine. A red, from the mountains of Parvati, said to be some of the best in the Galaxy. In the cabinet opposite the wine cooler, she took out 4 more crystal goblets.
She set the wine and the goblets on the table and gestured towards the woman who was pouring the wine earlier, Tina. She shrugged and opened the first bottle with a musical pop. The cork was made of Parvatian corkwood and was fragrant. Empress Meredith the 3rd, leader of Sol, Luna, the Outer Planet Alliance as well as her Colonies and Protector of The K'laxi poured five glasses of wine.
"Kerry, throw that out. Ladies. I need your help. You four are some of the only people who know about my... condition. What do I do?" She gestured towards the wine.
Tina grabbed a glass first and took a sip. "Well, can you tell anyone else?"
Kerry took one next. "No, she can't. The minute she tells someone else she's dead. If people find out the Empress That Can't Be Disobeyed can be, they'll kill her and put someone else on the throne."
"Or worse." Alina, the woman opposite Kerry at the bedchamber door pipes up and takes a glass.
"Is it really that bleak?" Emery takes the last glass of wine and sips it demurely. "Surely everyone in the Nobility and Admiralty won't want to kill you. You must have some people who are loyal to you utterly."
Meredith takes the last glass and flops onto her bed. She pats the mattress and the women sit. "There are some families that are completely loyal, but it's more out of inertia than any kind of love of the Empress. Tch, if the K'laxi found out they'd declare independence before the return ping confirming the beacon was received."
"Okay, let's look at it another way: How do you know they're gone? Other than not having The Voice?" Bruised shoulder aside, Kerry felt sympathetic. Meredith was in the middle of having her world crumble around her.
"I can't hear them."
The girls eyes' widen. "The Nanites talk to you?"
"They used to yeah. Based on how Mom spoke of it, they talked to her more than me. Grandmother complained that they basically never stopped talking."
"What do they say?" Kerry finishes off her wine, but doesn't go for more. Meredith pours her another glass anyway.
"Ugh, they always are trying to tell me what to do. They have ideas. They want us to build more Gates. I keep telling them the wormhole generators work better, but they're like "no we need more Gates." Meredith sighs and rolls her eyes. "They're very boring."
"They want more Gates?"
"Yeah, I think it's how they get into our dimension or something. They tried to explain it to me once, but I practically fell asleep."
"Wait." Alina pauses with the wineglass partway to her lips. "If they use the Gates, what would happen if you went to a Gate? You could talk to them directly!"
"And leave the palace?" Meredith rolls around on the bed, dramatically groaning with her arm over her eyes. "It's so far, and I'd have to ride in a ship, and I'd have to deal with a wormhole link and, and, and..."
Tina's eyes flick to Kerry and Alina and Emery's. They return her gaze.
"Is that worse than others finding out you lost your powers though? We'll never tell, but it'll get out eventually."
"What if just the five of us went!" Emery is animated, and on her third glass of wine. "You could take a small ship and just us. Tell everyone you're on some kind of Empress Pilgrimage. Link over to wherever the closest Gate is, talk to the Nanites and come home. Maybe do some light shopping at whatever station is closest."
Meredith raises her arm off her eyes and looks at Emery. "That's an incredibly dangerous idea."
Emery's face falls and she tilts her chin low. "I'm sorry Em-"
"I love it!"
The four handmaidens look shocked.
"It's so stupid! It's so dangerous! It's so exciting. Let's go. Right now." She takes a whole bottle of wine and starts drinking directly from it.
Kerry sputters. "Now? How are we going to leave?"
Meredith polishes off the wine and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Just like Emery said. Empress Shit. I'll just tell people I need to go and only you can come with me and they'll do it. If they say no, I'll have them killed."
"We can't pilot a starship though!" Alina reaches across Kerry and takes another bottle of wine and pours a little more, only slightly unsteadily.
"They drive themselves! It's easy. You just say "Ship, take us to wherever." and it does it." Kerry is on her third glass of wine, but has noticed that Meredith is getting sloppy. She's downed two bottles herself in just a few minutes. She gets up from the bed and grabs three more bottles from the cooler.
"You're just going to go by yourself with 4 handmaidens? Won't that cause problems?" Emery may have finally realized the gravity of what they're planning.
"No! I'm going with my honor guard!" Empress Meredith grins lopsidedly. "We'll stop by wardrobe on the way to the docks. You four need new uniforms." She hiccups. "Come on. We're going to tell those fucking Nanites to give me my powers back. Maybe some powers for you four too." She nods at Emery. "And some shopping. It's been forever since I've gone on a shopping spree."
Emery squeals in joy, her face flush. Kerry looks at the others. All five of them are very drunk now, and are full of Ideas. They all weave uncertainly out of the Empress' chambers and stagger towards wardrobe for their new honor guard uniforms.

Preface: I'm a pretty good technical writer but I feel like my fantasy writing is disjointed and my sentences don't always connect into cohesive paragraphs. If you have specific examples where you notice it, please let me know where and how I can improve. I also welcome any other feedback you may have. Thanks! Note: I have edited it but there may still be typos, my apologies.

Trigger warning: Pregnancy/childbirth/miscarriages
Ceralean knew something was wrong the moment he walked into the healer’s cabin that night. Eladayel was still laying in the stiff wooden bed, her face wet with streams forming lines down her pallid skin.
“Ela” He hurried to her side. “Love, what is the word?” He asked, not wanting to know the answer.
Eladayel brushed her smooth blond hair from her porcelain face and tucked the long locks behind her pointed elvan ears. Her green and gold eyes shimmering with the tears of her grief. Ceralean knelt at her bedside, the flickering light from the candles near the open window casting dancing shadows around the room.
“The child...?” His voice trembled. It was as much a question as a statement as he moved his hand to clasp that of his mate’s, which rested on her rounded stomach. She nodded sorrowfully and his dark blue eyes welled with his own sorrow. Long ebony locks spilled over Eladayel as he leaned across her bed and gathered her in a lingering embrace. And together they wept.
After a long moment, Ceralean raised his head and met his mate’s eyes. “What did they say?” He asked, carefully stroking her golden hair with as much comfort as he could offer.
“They said our child will not survive the birth”, she said softly trying to compose herself. “The babe has not turned, and I am ill, perhaps the child as well. The trauma will be too much”. She looked away, an overwhelming sense of failure falling over her. “My own body will kill our child”, she choked, and her tears starting to fall again. “I have done this”, she wept. But Ceralean hushed her and gently turned her chin back towards him. A weary smile crossed his lips, his eyes heavy with sorrow but overflowing with love for his mate.
“No, my darling”, he said cupping her face. “We can do so much but we cannot control the whims of fate. This tragedy is not by your hand.” Her eyes once again welled with tears, her breath hitching with a sob. She pressed her hand to that of her mate and closed her eyes feeling the warmth soak into her sleek skin.
Then her eyes shot open and she pushed herself up on her arms staring Ceralean in the eyes. “Fate”. She said, her eyes flicking now between those of her mate and her memories.
“Eladayel…”
“The prophecy, Ceralean”, she gasped. “We must go to Ishabar Forest”.
The prophesy was old and well known to the elves. On the fourth day of the sixth month, three hundred and seventy-four years following the Blood Wars, a dragon egg would be brought to the forest that lies between the Tyree and Coushka mountains. This forest will be called Ishabar. A village will stand within the wood, and there the egg will remain tended by elvan hands. On the day a dragon is birthed from its shell, a child of destiny will be born. This child will grow to walk the waters in which we all flow.
“Ela… My love”. He grasped her shoulders trying to calm her. “It is superstition, and it does not foretell of cured ailments”.
“No Ceralean,” Her gaze returning to his eyes, “but the child lives”.
“The village was built and the egg was delivered as foretold. More than one hundred years past, still the egg has not hatched.” Desperation flashed through her hazel eyes, her sorrow held back by fear and urgency.
What she said was true, he knew. In fact, pregnant elves from across the lands and even some terrans would make the journey to birth their child in Ishabar Forest in hope they will bear the child of destiny. In their own village, many mocked the pilgrims, knowing the egg must be dead after so long, but that had not stopped two of the elvan mothers from making the journey themselves.
“This is madness”, he cried, his voice splitting with a sorrowful crack. “The journey is long, and you are not well, I would lose you both!”.
A breeze rushed in through the open window, the candles flickering out into thin ribbons of smoke. Then, they sat in darkness, their eyes adjusting to the twilight and the white light of the third moon. The cold glow caressed her face and lit every falling tear as though they were fleeting raindrops of pure light.
“My love…”, Her plea, a whisper. “I would live to see our child open her eyes”.
The serenity of her gaze touched him, all thoughts of his fears dissipating like smoke before her radiance. He could not deny her this hope, and he would not deny it for himself. Leaning down slowly, he breathed out a slow drawn-out breath as he kissed her rounded stomach.
“You are right, my love…” He whispered into the soft folded fabric of her sleeping gown, “she is the child of destiny”.
Then he stood, the moonlight catching the unshed tears in his eyes and a gentle smile finding his lips. “We must go quickly now if we are to arrive in time. I will collect horses and a wagon and return for you within the hour”. He kissed the top of her head and strode out the door, trying for all the world to convince himself that this was the right thing to do.
The journey would take them eight days. They set off under the twilight sky with two strong horses at the yoke and Eladayel in the wagon behind, nested in piled bedding. By the light of the moons and sun with seldom a rest between, Ceralean drove the horses on through narrow, wooded roads, open plains, and mountain passes. Unseen were the spring blossoms that scattered the fields like spilled gemstones, the bird songs of renewed jubilation falling on deaf ears. Steadfast determination was his heart’s salvation, and he could do nothing but count the hours to their destination as milestones flew by. All the while, the warm spring weather held. On the sixth day of travel, Eladayel developed a fever and could no longer rise from her bed. Ceralean had tended to her with cool water though there was little he could do to quell the relentless heat within her. By the end of the seventh day, contractions had started. It was too soon, they both knew, even by their healer’s despairing prediction, but all they could do was move forward. Pressed for time, they travelled through the dead of night.
It was just before dawn when he saw the forms, shadows just outside of the light from the wagon’s lanterns. They leapt in long bounds keeping pace with the horses, their bodies extending to unnatural lengths.
Ceralean urged the horses on. They understood the danger for at his command, they galloped with renewed vigour, crying out loudly into the growing dawn. Behind him in the wagon, Eladayel moaned, long and agonized. The sound tore at his heart like jagged claws, but he could offer no comfort. Trees rushed by and the creatures kept pace, a snarling wail rising from the darkness like a hunting cry.
Then everything happened at once.
A wagon wheel caught in a deep pit in the road, cracking into a torrent of splintered wood. The wagon barrelled forward, crashing lopsidedly into the packed earth, and both travellers were flung into the brush. At the same time, the creatures leapt for the horses. Gray fur and enormous fangs were all Ceralean saw as he fell back out of view and into the forest’s new growth. Eladayel crashed into him, and he grabbed her protectively as they tumbled together. Willowy samplings snapped and underbrush crunched beneath them. Sticks pierced Ceralean’s hand and side, his body wrapped around his mate as he strained to buffer her from the worst of the impact.
With little remaining wagon to hold them back, the horses bolted, and the gnashing teeth followed. A moment later, Eladayel’s cries rang out. There was blood smeared across their clothes and it seemed to be coming from everywhere. But Ceralean didn’t feel any pain. He ripped the twigs from his flesh and stood on an ankle that ground oddly with each step. Then gently, he leaned down and collected his beloved in his arms.
You will not fall to those monsters, he swore as he stepped into the woods. But he didn’t have far to travel. She cried out again in his arms, her eyes shut tight against the pain of contractions and broken bones. Then a figure appeared in the pink light of the woods, and a voice called out.
“Over here!”
“By the gods!” Called another, in the smooth and polished accent of his people.
Elves rushed them, bows in hand but not drawn. They were surrounded in moments, gentle hands ushing them along. A male gently coaxed Eladayel from Ceralean’s grasp and two females flanked him, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and bearing his weight.
“The child is coming”, he cautioned, his head lolling, and the elves around him nodded.
They fled to the village like a deer in flight, all the while, Eladayel cried out. After moments that stretched on for an eternity, they were led into the village and rushed to the healer’s home.
Eladayel was laid out on a bed, but Ceralean refused to leave her side and looking upon then, no elf had the will to do allow otherwise. Shouts rang out through the streets and a moment later, the healer rushed into the room like a gust of wind. Starting her work with a torrent of movements, she grabbed coloured bottles and herbs from shelves setting them on a tray near the bed. Aids swept in with clamps, knives, and other implements, and towels were doused with sweet smelling liquids.
“We will need more space”, she said turning to Ceralean, a sympathetic expression in her eyes.
“She…” He started but Eladayel’s cry cut through the room, the sound searing his heart like a lash of flame. He knew the real battle was about to begin.
Ceralean dropped his gaze, his voice heavy with concern. “The child… She has not turned”.
The healer nodded, turning. “Bring me the birthing forceps and the sulfur, the child has not turned!” she called to her assistants in the crowded room.
Another elf, male with gentle eyes, took his arm and lead him back.
“This is Ishabar, friend, no healer on Zelan has delivered more children. Your mate is in the best hands”.
But something was wrong. Someone yelled, another called from the back room, and another from Eladayel’s other side. There were so many voices now that Ceralean couldn’t track the conversation, the only thing he knew was that Eladayel had gone quiet.
“Ela…” He called. “Ela!” Stepping forward, he was intercepted by a female elf. She placed a hand in the centre of his chest, holding him back as the flurry of activity continued in front of him.
“You cannot help her”, the attendant’s voice was firm. “Her wounds are great and the child…”
She looked behind her at the aids who worked like leaves in a dust devil of organized fury. Ceralean gaze travelled past her and caught a glimpse of Eladayel through the moving bodies. Her eyes were open. Green and gold irises devoured by large, black pupils bore into his soul with haunting desperation.
He knew what he had to do. Turning on his heal, he burst into the street.
Turning in a circle, he gathered his bearings then ran for the centre of town. He ran by buildings of all shapes and colours, built from living wood and metallic stone. Villagers regarded him and someone called out in concern but he didn’t slow.
And there it was, the egg sat on a tall pedestal in the centre of town just as he had heard. An extravagant fountain was built around it, water flowing in high arches, but it didn’t stop him. Leaping through the water and tripping over stones, he stumbled forward until he reached the slender stone structure.
Now is your part to play. He instructed silently, gazing up at the egg, but the egg did not stir.
Now more sounds were rising around him. Calls of concern became cries of alarm and commanding shouts rose throughout the streets.
“You will listen!” He commanded the egg. “Our child will live!”
But the egg did nothing.
Hands reached for him but he pulled away, his gaze focused on the azure shell. Then more hands grabbed at him seizing an arm.
Frustration boiled within Ceralean’s chest, a roar escaping him in a primal dry of defiance. Leaping forward, he ripped himself free of the hands and pitched cries of desperation rose up behind him. With a furious howl, he slammed his shoulder into the pedestal. And then bodies were upon him, connecting with his straining back and pushing him down beneath the fountain’s water. He heard muffled shouts and distant cries through the fluid in his ears, but their attention was no longer on him. Beneath the mass of elves, he fought to pull himself up and managed to crest his head above the water. Just as the egg smashed against the ground.
The world was silent, everyone was still. Ceralean pulled himself out from under his ambushers, and none made a move to stop him. All eyes were on him. He limped over to the smashed egg, his right ankle no longer holding his weight. Before him was the broken egg. The rounded side facing him gleamed pearlescent in the light of the sunrise, blue lit up pink with faint yellow swirls that seemed to shift with each blink of his eyes.
Kneeling down, he lifted the large half shell and there it was. A small, sleek blue dragon no bigger than a house cat. He gathered it up under one arm, but its small form was unmoving. His heart sank and shouts began to echo in his ears. Someone grabbed him roughly under his free arm jerking him to his feet and he staggered almost dropping the hatchling. But he didn’t. The hatchling grasped his arm holding him tightly, its small eyes sealed closed with the gluey substance of the egg.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd, a symphony of shock and disbelief filling the air. The voices around Ceralean blended into chaotic cacophony, drowned out by the fierce thrumming of his own heartbeat and the vision of the small dragon clutching to his arm.
The assistants parted for him as he was led into the house, all activity now stilled, and the first thing he saw was Eladayel. She was mortally pale but in her arms was a tiny, wrapped bundle. Ceralean’s legs buckled beneath him, a wave of weakness sweeping through his limbs as he was eased into a dark wooden chair the bed’s edge.
“The child will live”, said the healer behind him. “But I’m afraid…” Ceralean didn’t need to hear the rest, it was evident on his mate’s face. A ghostly pallor spread over Eladayel’s features, the vitality of her flesh waning by the moment. Blankets and towels concealed her body through deliberate placement.
“Did you hear, Ceralean?” Eladayel whispered, an undercurrent of joy lifting her voice as she looked down into a small, pink face. “The child will live”. And the words were a song on her lips.
Ceralean followed her gaze and there she was. The most perfect child he had ever laid eyes upon, and her green and golden eyes were open wide seeing the world for the first time.
“You did it”, he said softly to the tiny child then looked back to his mate. “She is perfect”. Silent tears of joy cascaded down Eladayel’s cheeks, washing away the anguish in her heart even as her colour faded, her eyelids fluttering shut.
“Ela…” Ceralean called gently, stroking his mate’s hair from her face as his tears fell. “You must name our daughter”.
“I have”, Eladayel said, her eyes struggling to open through the depth of her exhaustion until she looked upon their child once more. “She is Reshelliana…” She smiled. “She who walks the waters”.
“Reshelliana”, He repeated warmly, stroking Eladayel’s face once more, “a beautiful name, my love”.
Then her eyes closed.
Ceralean held his breath, the weight of the moment settling over him like a heavy cloak. In the dim light of the room, Reshelliana lay cradled in her mother’s arms, a tiny beacon of hope amidst the shadows of uncertainty. Ceralean leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss to his mate's forehead, silently promising to cherish their daughter and to carry their love forward into her future. And as the first light of dawn filtered through the window, he whispered her name once more, a vow and a prayer wrapped into one. Reshelliana, she who walks the waters.

The summer sun shone bright, casting its golden rays over the citrus tree that sat rooted in the backyard. Laura was sitting in the shade, allowing the breeze to brush her hair over her shoulder. Like a pesky mosquito, the small box of arsenic she’d recently bought was buzzing in her ear, refusing to leave her be. But, instead of squashing the pesky calling, she stood up from her chair and made for the citrus tree. She would have to be quick, as her husband would be home soon.
She’d just gotten back from the local grocery store. Laura grabbed the necessities: milk, eggs, and a loaf of bread, but decided on a last-minute detour through the cleaning aisle. She’d hidden the small box in the trunk, treating it as if she were a squirrel.
Laura hoisted herself onto her tip toes, gathering the sweet fruit from the tree. She had watched the lemons turn from green to yellow, memorizing the position of the ripe fruit on the branches. She plucked them one by one, resting the lemons in the pouch she created with her shirt.
The old glass lemon juicer lived above the microwave in a small cupboard used for less frequented kitchen utensils. She reached for the juicer, her large stomach pressing against the oven. Her fingers grazed the detailed glass, and she pulled it down to herself. Various speckles plagued the thing, and it looked like it had contracted a nasty illness.
It was her grandmother’s. The scalding summers of rural Alabama promised the sweet taste of fresh lemonade and was largely contributed to Laura’s motivation for such hard work on the farm. Her arms would house pink scratches from hay bales, and purple blemishes would kiss her smooth legs, but the glass juicer on the kitchen table rendered her hardships forgotten.
She remembered her grandmother showing her the secrets of the utensil. “Cut the lemon in half,” she would say, “then turn the fruit on the juicer.” Laura pushed the knife into the yellow skin and listened for the delicate pop. The popping of the taught skin promised a sweet, ripe fruit for juicing. She placed the flat of the halved fruit onto the juicer and pushed down. Her grandmother had passed the heirloom onto her at the first sight of the citrus tree that resided in Laura’s backyard.
For some reason, she thought that she might enjoy harming her husband in the same way. She would perhaps, like to feel the submission of his skin under a long, sharpened blade. She was curious of the skin’s resistance against the blade, wondering how much force it could take before splaying open. She wondered if his intestines would fall out of him like the seeds of a juiced lemon.
Today was a rather ordinary day; nothing special at all. But something within Laura spoke to her, reached out and grabbed hold of her. She told herself that her husband was a good man, he’d just slipped up at times. After all, who hadn’t?
Laura had been unable to escape the confines of the house due to the deep purple mark under her eye. But today, she was feeling better. The mark had disappeared, showing her an opportunity for a social outing once again. She decided that she would treat her husband when he came home, largely due to the day’s socialization that lifted her spirit.
When she met the man she married, he had been quite striking and genuinely kind to her. Since she was a girl, she fantasized about a man that would open the door for her and save her a seat at the dinner table. Laura was young when she witnessed her grandfather punishing her grandmother and knew that she would never allow a man to lay a finger on her. But her husband had made her feel like a princess, so she declared that it was love, and she allowed him to slip a ring on her finger.
She too, was punished shortly after their marriage.
She hadn’t realized the excessive force she unfairly placed on the lemon until the skin tore through, stabbing the palm of her hand. She picked the stray pieces of the skin from the liquid, knowing what her grandmother would say. Her grandmother would’ve used a small strainer to remove the pulp, seeds, and other various parts of the lemon from the delicious juice, saying something about germs and dirty fingers.
She began juicing the remaining lemons that sat in front of her, her arm tiring from the downward force. A cramp was forming in her hand, but a larger one had already formed in her jaw from gnashing her teeth against each other.
A small bead of sweat formed on her hairline. She was six months pregnant, but she was barely showing. Her doctors told her that she was carrying a healthy baby boy, and she didn’t mind the three remaining months before birth. Some women don’t enjoy pregnancy, but she felt a sense of purpose and responsibility to her life again.
She had always wanted to be a mother, but her husband felt different. Before they had married, they discussed children, and he knew that she wanted miniature copies of themselves. But, somewhere along the lines, his feelings toward children changed, and she knew her lifelong dream had boiled down to nothing.
But some months ago, after her husband came home smelling of liquor, he held her down and gave her the child she had always wanted. She told herself that it was a blessing in disguise, refusing to acknowledge the horror of the circumstances of her motherhood.
“Marriage can be tough,” her grandmother told her when she mentioned her marital hardships. Laura and her grandmother understood each other, quietly knowing their shared experiences, but never discussing them openly. Still, Laura felt guilty for sharing her husband’s mishaps, feeling as if she had done undesirable things in her lifetime as well. She decided against telling her grandmother about her grandchild.
That night, she knew she would never allow her husband to touch her beloved son. Laura loved the unborn child with all of herself, but she was unwilling to share the human growing inside of her. She knew that a man that would beat his wife would surely beat his children, but she also knew that she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to lay a hand on him.
“Give and take,” her grandmother said, looking down at the floor. “Marriage is a game of give and take.”
“I know,” Laura said, kissing her the elderly woman on the cheek before returning home to the man she married.
She dumped the juice from the small bowl into a larger pitcher. The best lemonade didn’t come from a recipe, but from a best guess and a knowing hand. Laura filled the pitcher halfway with tap water, pouring the concentrate in afterward. She plunged a large white spoon into the opaque liquid, stirring to create a whirlpool.
Digging her fingers under the fabric of the trunk mat, she revealed the box of poison, and tucked it into her apron to conceal it. She was alone, but the possession of the small box made her feel like a high-grade criminal.
Back inside, she lifted the bag of white sugar to the pitcher and tapped lightly on its backside. Delicate streams of sugar landed in the liquid, slowly drowning in the sea of yellow that surrounded it. She forced her thumb into the side of the cardboard box and sprinkled the poison into the juice. The spoon once again created a whirlpool in the liquid, and she snapped the red lid on the container, content with herself and her decision.
***
Her husband strode through the door, dropping his weathered briefcase a few steps in. Removing his heavy jacket exposed his sweat-soaked oxford from the day’s heat. He loosened his tie and gave his wife a gentle kiss on the cheek, saying nothing. He pushed the coat into his unborn son and headed toward stairs for a shower. She took the briefcase to his office and tucked the jacket away to be cleaned. She assumed it had drunken in some of the sweat from the oversaturated oxford.
She took the lemonade from the fridge, excited for the tasting of the sweet concoction. Laura grabbed for the house phone that sat in its cradle under the microwave and pushed her fingers into the buttons. She silently pleaded with it, tucking the cord under her arm.
“Hunny?” her husband said, standing behind her.
She felt her face turn ghastly, and the blood in her veins froze over. Shit, she thought to herself. Trying her best to remain nonchalant, she tucked the phone back into its cradle, praying that her husband didn’t catch her whispered conversation.
“Yes?” she said with an adorable smile, a glass of lemonade in her hand.
Please, please, please, please, she begged to herself. She couldn’t tell whether she’d been caught, but she knew that she would reap the consequences either way. She thought her pregnancy would save her from his lashings, but he punished her all the same.
“Is that for me?” he asked her, forcing the glass from her hand.
Her pink lips spread wide across her face. She hadn’t planned for this, but she would be happy with either outcome. The sweet smile remained on her face, and she suddenly hoped that he would tip the glass back, dumping poison down his gullet. But instead, he scoffed at it, forcing the liquid back at her and causing the spilled drink to dribble down her apron.
“I don’t like lemonade, hunny. You know that,” he said with a smirk on his face, but a threatening edge to his voice.
“Oh,” she managed, knowing well that he hated lemonade. “I just thought I’d make you something sweet after a long day of work.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I want you to drink it for me.”
She gulped and felt the blood run from her face once more. This is it, she thought to herself. Drinking the liquid meant taking her life, but it had been part of her plan. If she drank the liquid, she would need emergency medical attention. If she drank the liquid, it would mean the end of her life. But, if she drank the liquid, her husband would never lay a finger on her son.
“Drink it,” he snapped at her, some spittle landing on her cheek.
His face had grown slightly red. She anticipated his familiar rough palms on her neck. His dirty fingernails would dig into the thin flesh of her neck, drawing blood, and leaving small pink microtears along her skin. Her skull would knock against the wall, and her breath would escape from her lips as it had many times before.
She tipped the glass back, feeling the cold liquid resting in her mouth. A sense of freedom washed over her, and she felt lighter in her skin. The lemonade tasted like the yellow gold her grandmother produced on the farm when she was a child. It tasted smooth, the sugar and arsenic particles homogeneous in the liquid, no grit sticking to her teeth. She threw the glass back swiftly, allowing the remaining liquid to pour down her throat.
Nervous, Laura poured another glass. She was still standing, not even a hint of a quiver in her legs. She cursed herself for not having a heavier hand while spiking the drink and feared that she made a fool of herself.
She poured herself another glass, washing it down quicker than the last. Each gulp of the opaque liquid meant a sweet escape. Each glass meant that her son would be safe with her forever, and she tossed the liquid back, warm with the thought.
She fell to the floor, feeling her body suddenly fail under her weight. She laid there, staring up at the man she’d hoped would love her forever. Staring into his eyes, she saw the panic that she’d waited so long to witness. Maybe he would care about her this time.
The faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance, and Laura knew her plan had worked. She felt the poison tearing through her body, destroying her life with each new organ the liquid contacted. With her last bit of strength, she reached for her son, rubbing her stomach while a small tear escaped her eye.
She could hear the police banging at the door, threatening to bust it down. But they had been too late. Laura felt herself growing increasingly incoherent with each passing second. A small smile found her lips before she left her husband, content with a job well done.
The briefcase remained on his desk, one of the buckles unlatched, begging to be investigated. She made sure the hardware was coated with the sticky yellow residue, but she was sure to leave signs of herself absent.
Nestled gingerly inside the case was the box of arsenic.

“Are we ready to begin?” Orlan asked, striding confidently into the massive heart chamber of his castle. A circle of men and women in long robes stood around the Anchorheart that hovered in the middle of the room, a single test ring of mana flowing around above their heads.
“We should be, Protector Lord,” the oldest man present answered from his spot in the ring, “did the seers verify the rift is large enough?”
“They did,” Orlan nodded, motioning the mages who’d been seated along the wall of the round chamber to rise. They were there to take over for any of the head mages that fell, twelve of the most powerful casters in the world took deep breaths as their grandmaster inspected the slip of paper Orlan had handed him, ensuring the spell would be properly attuned to the rift they sought to hitch a ride on. Each of the head mages was an eight sphere mage, the grandmaster the only ninth sphere alive.
Slowly the Grandmaster lifted his arms, the room falling silent as the other head mages matched his movement. Orlan stepped up to the anchorheart and placed his hand upon it, feeling the power pulsing through the grand stone, his power. The Grandmaster began to chant, the phrases were meaningless serving only to time each action of all the casters. One by one nested rings of glowing light appeared in the air around the Anchorheart, each mage responsible for a single ring. With the last of the twelve rings formed the Grandmaster’s chant changed, and runes began to appear between the rings, the glowing lights being carved from the air itself.
The third chant began and now it was Orlan’s turn, he began to channel power from the Anchorstone into the spell surrounding it. The pulsing violet light almost seemed to taint the beautiful runes and lines of the spell, several of the mages grunting in effort as they struggled to contain the raw power within the rings. They’d practiced this several times over the last couple months, but this was the first time they’d be powering a full twelve ring spell. As far as he could tell no one had ever powered a twelfth tier spell with power from an Anchorheart, much less using Orlan’s unique mana.
The rings flickered as the spell construct struggled to manage the rampant, chaotic power of the rift. For several minutes all the mages waiting along the walls held their breath, the head mages sweating as they forced the energy into the proper shape. Then, like the pin of a lock falling into place, the spell stabilized to the obvious relief of everyone in the chamber.
That was the first hard part, where things could have gone horribly wrong. Rift mana was volatile at the best of times and while the spell was theoretically sound, it hadn’t been tested in full. Taking the opportunity for a short break before they activated the spell most of the head mages pulled a mana crystal out and crushed it, grunting as the energy entered their souls. But a short break was all they got, as the Grandmaster restarted the chant.
This time the entire island shook as power suffused the area, ripping it from where it hovered over a wasteland far from Last Wall. This was the next hard part, once they entered the rift the spell would be automatic, but until then they were tunneling their way through the void under their own power. Only Orlan’s rift mana even made this possible, but that didn’t make it easy. The head mages struggled to keep their rings stable as forces upon both the spell and the land they stood upon grew.
The next section of the chant indicated they’d left their world behind and were now in a rift of their own making. Any mistake now could be fatal for everyone on the island. Realistically it was only a matter of time before someone was overexerted, but that was why the extra mages were gathered to take over if needed. Even a less powerful mage was preferable to breaking the circle.
The newest of the head mages was, predictably, the first to go too far. His outer sphere shattered, releasing a flood of energy as his soul partly broke down. Years, perhaps decades of work gone in an instant, the head mage dropping to the seventh sphere. Despite the pain the man grit his teeth and stayed in, so long as they were at least sixth sphere the mages should have the control needed to manage the spell.
Orlan was too focused on his own task to notice, while the mages kept the spell active, it was his job to keep the island intact. With each quake new cracks appeared in the foundation of his island, forcing him to draw energy from the already taxed Anchorheart to seal them. As they approached the rift they were planning on joining the instability would only get worse, to the point that even a minor fracture could become a major fault in the structure of the island.
Two more mages dropped to the seventh sphere as their outer soul shattered, one of them being overwhelmed by the surge of energy and had to be replaced. The injured head mage was rushed out of the room to a nearby ward where some of Orlan’s knights with healing abilities waited. They couldn’t risk other magics in the Anchorheart chamber, forcing them to leave all uninvolved mages a safe distance out.
Cracks were forming faster than Orlan could seal them by this point, and he was being forced to supplement the power of the Anchorheart with his own mana. He was being forced to prioritize critical damage over less vital areas, leaving him helpless as he watched a landslide take out a small village on the northern side of the island. Thankfully all inhabitants of the island had been evacuated to the castle specifically for this reason. And while the loss of the village would hurt their ability to produce food, it shouldn’t matter in the long run. The other side should have plenty.
Right when Orlan thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. They’d impacted the outer skin of the rift they were targeting, and were now forcing their way through. Only the Grandmaster had avoided having a sphere shatter, the massive mana being ninth sphere gave him holding out far longer than the others. Now, though, mana flowed from him like water from an overturned cup. Orlan felt as his own outermost sphere shattered, power surging through him into the Anchorstone, dropping him to the sixth sphere. The massive power reserves of the Anchorstone had sustained him until now, but at the end of the day he, too, had limits.
They were rapidly running out of mages, two of the head mages having fallen below the sixth sphere and being forced out of the circle. Orlan reached out and checked on their progress, hoping they were almost through, only to find they were trapped against the inner skin of the rift. They needed another burst of power to make it through, and Orlan grimaced as pain flooded his body as he dropped to the fifth sphere. Despite the reduced capabilities of his reduced soul he still felt as the Grandmaster summoned enough power to cast another spell.
Orlan’s eyes popped open, looking to where a single spell circle hovered in the air over the middle of his chest.
“Grandmaster,” Orlan forced out through his clenched jaw, “don’t!”
The old man simply gave a sad smile as the spell activated, and all nine of the man’s spheres shattered at once. Immense energy flooded from his body, more than any single mage could hope of generating. Not even the Anchorstone could have produced such a torrent of power. In an instant the spell stabilized, reinforced by the life force of the worlds strongest mage, and they broke through into the rift.
Every mage still standing collapsed to the ground, panting, including Orlan. After a few minutes to recover, only the Grandmaster’s body remained unmoving however, the other mages all knew what had happened as soon as power had flooded the spell. But to think the old man would shatter all of his sphere, giving his very soul to ensure their success, took them minutes more to comprehend.
With the spell cast and the island now safely riding along in a natural rift, Orlan’s knights entered the chamber to tend to the exhausted mages.
“Lord, you did it,” a soft, feminine voice said from next to him. It wasn’t a question, but a statement and congratulations. Orlan slowly turned to look at his head knight, Lady Lialra as she gave him a soft smile. Accepting her help he stood, putting his hand on the Anchorstone once more to inspect the damage. A few more landslides had escaped his notice, the skyship port was trashed and several older buildings in the main town at the base of the castle had collapsed. A small section of the eastern island was hanging on by a thread, and Orlan directed the Anchorstone to send its energy there as it regenerated its now spent reserves.
That last act completed he allowed Lialra to lead him from the chamber and to a bed.
-----
Two days had passed since they entered the natural rift, a short service was held for the fallen grandmaster despite the darkness outside. Without a sun it was starting to grow cold, but they’d prepared for that, and the castle was completely heated by the Anchorstone’s magic. Orlan had recovered from the ordeal in under a day, despite being reduced to the fifth sphere, while the other mages were still convalescent.
“The seers predict that we’re be emerging in under a day,” Kiethara reported, “but even they admit that it’s hard to see the world now, so they could be off by quite a bit.”
“That’s fine,” Orlan nodded, “I want the knights ready for combat at a moment’s notice, we’ll be emerging in the middle of a beast rift. So keep the islands defenses at the ready.”
“Will you be joining us Lord?” Nariva, the youngest of his knights, asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Orlan nodded, “I may be only fifth sphere now, but I can still fight.”
The girls winced at the mention of his reduced capabilities, their power was limited as well by his condition. So while the knights at the sixth sphere were still stronger, they wouldn’t be able to tap the powers granted by their bond as easily.
“Lord,” Lialra spoke up, here eyes refocusing indicating she’d just received a message. Orlan suppressed his frustration that he hadn’t been able to sense the incoming message, he’d forgotten how limited his magical sense had been like this.
“The new Grandmaster thinks he’s located about where we’ll be emerging,” she continued, holding a hand up. Three spell circles appeared, rapidly filled with runes and vanished to be replaced by an illusory map. Orlan leaned forward to look at it, then scowled.
“Looks like we’ll be appearing over a major city,” he said, “unless the other side had changed radically since I was there. So I want both lances deployed with healers. Also be prepared for other combatants in the area, I doubt the locals will be able to differentiate us from the beasts. Avoid hurting other people if possible, but, as always, keep yourselves alive. Got it?”
-----
It was bright out, despite being the middle of the night, the city lights illuminating the ground as effectively as the sun would. Despite the late hour cars were about and people were working, going about their day, or night as normal. When a couple of massive bolts of lightning silently flashed across the cloudless sky few noticed, only for the thunder to strike the ground like a shockwave. The city shook and the lights flickered out citywide. Even the cars went still and, for a single timeless moment the city was quiet, then the screams began.
From injuries as a result of glass shattered by the thunder to simple panic at the sudden outage the city refused to remain silent. Another set of massive lightning bolts struck the ground in one of the many city parks, briefly casting the city in stark light and shadow before the thunder blew the ground apart, toppling several of the taller structures nearby. A swirling maelstrom of light was left behind where the lightning struck, no more than a hundred feet across but hardly a stable sphere as it boiled and writhed almost like a living creature struggling to free itself.
What had been simple panic became outright terror as strange creatures appeared out of the night, first seen only as silhouettes as smaller threads of lightning lashed out from the maelstrom of energy. But before long their roars echoed across the city to match the screams. The strange, bestial creatures, reminiscent of great apes, but with almost stick thin limbs and body. Boar like heads filled with a maw of dagger like teeth bit deep into anything that got too close while razor sharp claws cut through flesh and steel with equal ease.
Gunfire joined the growing din of the battle, accompanied by pained roars, but these creatures weren’t simple animals and the handguns used by the local police did little more than slow them down. Larger rifles and shotguns, rare within city limits, were able to drop several of the monsters, but there were only so many to go around while the number of beasts only seemed to grow.
More lightning flashed across the sky, but this time it was partly blocked from sight. More flashes revealed a massive island of stone, easily several miles across, floating in the dark sky above the city. Within moments boats with flattened bottoms and sails protruding out to either side shot out from the top of the island and curved down into the city below. Each boat made for a different spot around the maelstrom, warriors in armor jumping from the copper clad hulls before they even touched down.
Reports of women in armor were common in the days following the attack. Wielding strange, anarchic weapons they carved through the beasts with the ease the beasts had been killing people off moments earlier. While most of the feminine knights focused on killing monsters, others went out of their ways to help people. People would tell stories of an angel in armor pulling them from the rubble of their houses, a soft yellow glow enveloping them as their injuries healed in real time then the woman pointed them towards safety before running to save the next person.
They would talk about the other strange powers, throwing balls of fire or light striking out with the power of a tank shell to level entire masses of the monsters. The fighters moving with super human speed and strength were common, but while most reports were scattered there was one that was repeated by people from multiple locations. A man in heavy steel armor, wielding a bladed spear, who seemed to flicker in and out of reality as he tore through the monsters, only to vanish like a dream. He seemed to be everywhere at once, where ever the fighting grew fiercest he would appear. Many assumed it was a group of different men who, despite the different abilities and weapons demonstrated by the warrior women, all had the same powers.
Whatever the case, by the time the sun began to rise the maelstrom of light at the center of the event had vanished. City streets were littered with the dead, hundreds of people and thousands of monsters. But no bodies belonging to the angelic warriors who’d come to their rescue.
-----
Orlan looked at the map displayed on the round table in the center of the room. Many of his higher ranking knights were with him, watching as points of light appeared, marking each detected rift event. While the central rift was the source of largest number of monsters, smaller temporary rifts would appear at random at some distance around the main rift, and each could be the source of one or more monsters.
“I estimate a 98% effective cordon,” Nallia, the strongest mage among Orlan’s knights, explained, gesturing to a set of rift events that appeared on the far side of a river that cut through the city, “while a couple seem to have slipped past us initially the training squad hunted down many, if not all, of the stragglers. Unfortunately between the chaos in the Aether due to the rift and the number of people in the city we haven’t been able to confirm that, any divination is effectively impossible in these conditions.”
“Nothing we can do about that,” Orlan shrugged, “what about casualties?”
“We estimate between five and ten thousand injured and around eight hundred dead among the locals,” she continued, shaking her head at the numbers. A city in her world had ten thousand people, yet that many being injured here was considered a low number given the sheer size of this city, “for us almost everyone was injured, but only three were serious. The training lance was caught off guard by a series of rift events.”
Orlan simply nodded in reply, the training lance was filled with knights in training, none of whom were above the forth sphere. They’d been placed where the fewest people and monsters should have been, but, as was all too common, the rift proved unpredictable. Thankfully with their healers none of them would be permanently injured, but several were out for several days due to the backlash of healing magic.
“The monsters were largely second sphere equivalent,” Nallia continued, “only a few rising to third sphere equivalent, which likely explains our low casualty count. Based on our estimations of this side’s Aether they’ll be unable to sustain themselves for more than couple days, so if any did escape they won’t last long.”
“Still, I want at least one knight ready to respond at any time,” Orlan ordered, several of the knights nodding, “just in case, this is a heavily populated area after all.”
“Our estimation of local defenses is… poor,” the mage added as she continued the report, “we figure they delt with no more than a couple dozen monsters. If any more rifts hit this area it’s unlikely they’ll be able to stop them, even with advanced warning.
“Finally, there are a couple odd flying craft circling the island, I believe you said they were called helicopters. There were five as of last count, but they’ve been coming and going since the sun came up.”
“I suppose I should deal with them,” Orlan sighed, “if that’s all I’ll go do that.”
After a glance around the room to see if anyone had anything to add he turned and strode out, followed closely by Lialra. The two walked in silence through the halls of the castle for a minute, until they were far enough from the map room that they were unlikely to be overheard that Lialra spoke.
“How’s it feel to be back?” she asked.
“Wish it could have been under better circumstances,” Orlan admitted, “or better yet, not at all. I was happy with our life in on the other side.”
“Really?” she asked in a teasing tone while leaning forward, “I seem to remember you being desperate to return when we first met.”
“That was years ago,” Orlan rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face despite himself, “before I found myself.”
“When every fight nearly killed you,” Lialra added, a playful smile on her lips, “and I had to nurse you back to health for days on end.”
“Miss those days?” Orlan returned, glancing at her.
“Hardly,” she snorted, “sometimes I felt less like your knight and more like nursemaid. In fact, I seem to remember you telling me about a kind of outfit they had on this side that would-.”
“Whelp, time to deal with those helicopters,” Orlan interrupted, a faint blush on his cheeks, before he stepped forward and vanished through space. Lialra merely smiled for a moment before calling on their bond to follow him, appearing in the courtyard of the castle in time for him to step through space once more, appearing on an outer turret, followed an instant later by Lialra. It was harder to follow him through his jumps due to their weakened bond, but as long as she was near him she could manage it. Though she imagined most of his other knights couldn’t right now, one of the many capabilities lost due to the power lost when crossing between the sides of the world.
“Looks like news choppers,” Orlan commented, having felt Lialra following him through his rifts, “no military yet.”
“Is that good?”
“No idea,” he shrugged, a series of runic circles appearing in the air behind him, only to flicker out just as quickly, leaving Orlan scowling, “right, flight is a seventh sphere spell for me.”
“Guess you’re stuck rift stepping up,” she said, “like we used to.”
“You coming?”
“Of course,” she replied with a warm smile. Orlan simply nodded and pulled upon the inherent power of his mana and stepped through space once more, a small spell circle appearing under his feet for a moment as he emerged in midair, forming a shield that supported him for an instant before he stepped once more. Lialra a step behind him, summoning her own shield to step on as they made their way towards the nearest of the helicopters.
It took a dozen steps before Orlan stepped onto the skid of a helicopter, reaching out to grab a handle bar on the door while a spooked camera man scrambled backwards. He said something but Orlan couldn’t hear him over the roar of the blades above them, so he pointed to the man’s head, then to his own ears. It took a couple tries but eventually the surprised man fished a headset out and handed it to Orlan.
He glanced towards the rear of the helicopter, Lialra was standing just behind him on the skid, but was looking up in wonder at the spinning blades just above them. He’d warned her to avoid them, but she still seemed fascinated.
“Can you hear me?” he asked after slipping the headset on.
“You gotta move the mic in front of your mouth,” a muffled voice replied, and Orlan quickly complied, “that’s it. So, uh, how the hell did you get up here?”
Orlan simply lifted an eyebrow at the man, turning to glance back at his island, a massive mountain of stone that hovered hundreds of feet in the air over the ocean. He’d moved it so it didn’t hang over the city, he knew there was an airport in the city and didn’t know how it would handle his island being in the way.
“That’s your first question?” Orlan asked in response, turning back to the camera man. Behind him someone else was peering out from the front cabin of the helicopter, he also wore a headset but hadn’t spoken up yet.
“I, uhh, I don’t,” the camera man stuttered, and Orlan simply rolled his eyes before looking at the other man.
“Can you speak properly?” he asked of the other man.
“Yes,” the other man answered quickly and confidently, showing experience in dealing with odd situations, “though this isn’t a great place for an interview.”
“That’s fine, I just wanted to get a message out,” Orlan replied, “first off, tell everyone that approaching within three miles of my island could be risky, it’ll trip our defenses and… well… I’d rather not hurt anyone. Second off, I’m willing to do a quick interview, but in return I want a cell phone, with a plan paid, lets say, a year out, and a radio I can use to speak with other choppers.”
“You want… a cell phone?” the man asked incredulously, looking at the simple, if well made, leather brigantine Orlan wore over a dark tunic and trousers. Looking down at his dress he did stick out, perhaps looking like he was in costume or from a renaissance fair. Despite that he was asking for a cell phone and radio, which, he had to admit, was a rather serious juxtaposition.
“I may not look it, but I am from this world,” Orlan explained, looking up, “though it has been a while, are cell phones not common anymore?”
“They are, just…” the reporter shook his head, “we’ll need somewhere to land.”
“I’ll put a helipad on the southern end of the island in a couple hours, just be sure to approach from the south so we know it’s you,” Orlan replied, “I’ll only answer questions for half an hour for now, I’m expecting the government to show up eventually.”
“No kidding,” the reporter agreed, writing something down on a pad, “cell phone, radio, two hours from now, approach from the south, right?”
“That’s it,” Orlan smiled, pulling his headset off and tossing it to the still confused camera man before stepping off the skid and vanishing through space, Lailra following him a moment later.
“Is this wise?” she asked as they returned to the ground a couple minutes later, “inviting them here?”
“One way or another we’ll need to talk with someone, best to do it on our terms than wait for them to force the issue,” Orlan shrugged, “if the government is anything like it was when I left, they won’t respond well to us appearing out of nowhere.”
“A very controlling royal family?”
“Something like that,” he nodded, reaching out a hand and pulling on energy from the Anchorheart and directing his will into the ground before him. The ground flowed almost like a liquid, becoming flat and solidifying into a stone platform a couple dozen meters across. Orlan couldn’t remember how much space a helicopter needed, so he decided to go overboard. Thankfully this side of the island had never been heavily used so there was plenty of open ground.
“And now we wait,” he said after ensuring the platform was stable. He couldn’t make full structures this way, the Anchorheart couldn’t manage that level of complexity without an Earth mage, but he could make foundations and generally alter the terrain.
-----
-----
((A little side project I've been working on, response has been positive on patreon so figured I'd throw it up here. Lemme know if you enjoy!))
***** Discord - Patreon *****

“Cassandra. Please help me.” Seramis begged in utter exasperation as Medea fused over the young dragoness. A few licks of flame and careful adjustments brought the final necessary adjustments to a uniquely diluvian form of formal wear. The princess’s scars had been covered over with molten silver, set in place and allowed to cool, hardening to the scales. From this, similar techniques were used to create a careful outline of interconnecting silver leaves and vines, studded occasionally with rubies. It gave the dragoness the impression that she was wearing a sculpted holly bush. This stretched out towards her wings, which had been dyed for the occasion, a brilliant pair of blue flowers, the petals shimmering like flame in the light. The dragoness had always been magnificent, but now she had become a walking work of art, a display of wealth, skill with flame, the strength required to carry such a heavy “outfit”, and the restraint to move without damaging it.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Cassandra replied with a smug smile. The sorceress had dressed in her finest, a fine purple tunic that trailed behind her, enveloping the woman in flowing silks decorated with golden honeysuckle designs running in anthemion patterns. She wore across her back a brilliant blue cloak that hung down to her ankles, decorated with enough symbology to practically be a tapestry. Her hair was drawn up and back in a complex bun set with jewels. Her pale face was reddened with clay, and her blue eyes were highlighted with kohl in an almost Egyptian style. To cap it off, she was bedecked in perhaps twenty pounds of golden jewelry, bracelets, necklaces, bejeweled belts and rings. Medea had of course managed and tweaking each individual piece, doing everything in her power to ensure the young queen looked as magnificent as possible.
“I think it’s rather lovely she puts so much work into helping you look your best. Heaven knows you wouldn’t have managed much yourself. You’d hardly care to.” Cassandra remarked, utterly radiant and confident in her full regalia. She wore the atmosphere of formality with true confidence, or at least very good acting chops.
“Yes, do listen to the young queen, it is her coronation after all.”
“Betrayed by my own mother. I shall have to write a tragedy about this.” Seramis moaned theatrically. “Of course you turn against me the moment you find someone who actually likes having you fuss over them.”
“It’s a nice change of pace to have someone who does.” Cass admitted, and her smile became far less smug and more genuine.
“Well you’ve certainly needed it.” Medea replied, before finally considering Seramis acceptable. “Alright. Well, we had best take our places.” She offered a bow to Cassandra, and then, a re-assuring hug before stepping out.
Seramis chuckled and shook her head, before affectionately nudging the young queen. “Well, knock em dead oh sister mine.”
“Sister?”
“Oh mom has absolutely adopted you. You don’t get a choice it’s just happened.”
“Well, my little sister-“
“I’m ten times your size, you don’t get to do that one.” Sera growled. “Even so, go break a leg. Not literally it’s just an expression. Let’s get this party done so I can get out of this overly expensive ivy. Never got this. Silver is food, not something to wear.” She grumbled at nobody in particular before going to take her place.
The coronation was held in the grand temple at the heart of Philopolis. Once, this had been the highest point in the kingdom, a place of refuge. Over the years, the military mountain of the fortress had overtaken it, and now the towering grey fortress framed the white marble of the temple. It seemed almost petit, even if it was an edifice that even Athens would have had to acknowledge. There were relatively few of the great and mighty of Philopolis present. Most of those had died recently. Instead the grounds were filled with knights of renown, loyal soldiers, and of course many a foreign dignitary. They had come from all Hellas, even also from Ionia, Pontus, and Bithynia. There were Egyptians and Persians, with retinues of Numidians, Arabians, Ethiopians, and Hebrews. This day had been long awaited, for it was not any day that a new challenger to Iskandar’s throne took her throne. The whole of the Hellenistic world, and a few from beyond it, had come to bear witness to the dawning of the new age.
Of course, two guests quite literally overshadowed all others. Alfred and Medea, king and queen of Achaea, wore their true forms before all assembled, unable to even fit inside the temple. Instead they stood beside it, he on the east and she on the west, in all their glory to honor the new queen. They had become as if the sun. Medea draped gold woven like sheep’s wool over herself, and outwards from there radiated bronze and orichalcum as the rays of the setting sun, fading seamlessly into her natural blue-green scales, before reaching the silver of night about her feet. Alfred by contrast had woven gold onto his breast and spread it outwards in spiraling rays. At the same time, he crowned himself with umber, ebony, and amber, a black and tarnished gold crescent about his brow that ran down in four rivers along his neck. There it spread across his wings in twisting Mesopotamian spirals set against a red sky, fearsome, ancient, and wonderous. They set themselves, Lord and Lady of Night and Day, mightiest of all beasts, wonders of a forgotten age now returned. Rumors had spread throughout the world that dragons reigned in Achaea, for knowledge spread slowly in those days. Now it was boldly proclaimed on the highest stage, the daughters of Tiamat and the sons of Mardok had returned to once more take thrones among men.
Of course, the high and mighty were far from the only ones assembled here. About the hill and ranging down it were men and women of every social strata. From warriors in honorable military dress, to gaudily dressed merchants, to common farmers in what passed for their best, to the slaves in whatever they could manage. It seemed the whole kingdom had turned out for this, and beyond the hill, a great field was being set up with a truly mind-boggling amount of food.
If dragons were capable of breaking out in a cold sweat, Seramis likely would have. Given her role in arranging this, she had obtained a place of honor. Which meant she would be standing in front of all of this and desperately trying not to make a fool of herself. She briefly considered turning herself into a mouse and hiding somewhere very, very far away from all of this. She had admittedly wanted recognition and respect at the beginning of this, but this was more than she had bargained for.
“Don’t worry, I’m nervous too.” A familiar voice re-assured her. She turned and relaxed when she saw Leonidas standing beside her. The young prince was dressed in far less finery, with a blue tunic and purple cloak. He wore a belt set with gold, and on it a sword set with gems. He also, ever pragmatic, kept an actually functional sword and his trusted hunting knife hidden beneath his clothing. He wore a golden necklace about his neck, which was made of the rings taken from defeated noblemen woven together. Upon his brow he wore a crown of laurels as befitted a champion and hero of the realm. He offered her his hand reassuringly. “We’ve managed worse than this. We can manage this as well.”
Sera regarded his hand with some bemusement. “I think that if I were to try and take that hand of yours, I’d risk crushing it, or possibly stumble. I do use all four limbs to keep myself upright like a reasonable creature.” She remarked with a hint of haughtiness, but a genuine smile. “I appreciate it though. But enough nerves. It’s showtime.”
Then they walked down the center of the temple, side by side, with the acclamation of the mighty about them. They took their places, he on the right hand of the altar, and she on the left. The applause faded, and then resumed with even greater intensity as Cassandra took the stage. She strode alone, unaccompanied by servants, bodyguard, or king. Seramis sensed a glamor about the woman, projecting an aura of authority to overawe those around her. She took her place, and allowed the applause before raising a hand to silence them. Then, from behind the altar came a priestess of Hecate, holding an ancient crown. Once this crown had been that of the kings of Persia, but Iskandar had taken it, and sent it back to his home that it might crown his successors. Cassandra took the crown, and placed it upon her own brow. No priest or any other would crown her, for she was in and of herself the authority.
Then Seramis and Leonidas both shouted an acclamation, and the whole hall joined them. Then the hill beyond echoed, until as on the battlefield, the roar of thousands proclaimed their acceptance of their rightful queen, crowned at last.
“LONG LIVE QUEEN CASSANDRA!”
“LONG LIVE QUEEN CASSANDRA!”
“LONG LIVE QUEEN CASSANDRA!”
And then there was a great wordless cheer that went on for about another two minutes before it finally stilled, and Cassandra spoke in turn.
“Hear me, oh people mine, oh my soldiers, and oh you great men from across the earth, who gather here to honor me. Fourteen years ago, this day was set in motion when infection took my father from the earth. So then the line of Iskandar passed unto me, last of the blood of Zeus, and was set waiting until the time would be right. For fourteen years the kingdom has awaited the return of its rightful head, and I have strived with all my being to become indeed, worthy of crown and legacy alike. I am the last and mightiest of the demigods, and last of the true line of Iskandar. In treachery, many sought to extinguish them forever, to plunge our great nation, and indeed all the world, into darkness and night everlasting. But now, the wait is ended, the great usurper is dead, and I have come. A new day dawns for Philopolis, indeed for all Hellas!”
At this, her loyal men roared in applause. Thanks to a certain small coin carefully hidden amongst all the queen’s jewelry, so too did all those beyond the pillars of the temple. The other members of the audience felt the need to do so as well, caught up in the momentum of the crowd even if they did find the idea of a new dawn mildly concerning.
“As such, this shall be my first action, to clear away all that remained of the long night. Only a memory of the evil Tyndareus had done here will remain. Bring them forth!” She ordered.
Then at once a group of soldiers brought forth men in chains, beaten and with once fine clothes torn to rags. These were what remained of Tyndareus’s allies, the old, rich, ambitious, and cruel men who had supported him. The soldiers threw them down before Cassandra, and they wailed and begged for clemency like common criminals. The mighty men of the audience saw them so degraded, and watched them all be silent like beaten dogs when Cassandra raised her hand.
“You, oh men of much means, you who were mighty among the noble men of Macedon. How far you have fallen. Once, your forefathers were captains and brethren to Iskandar the Conqueror, but what legacy of that have you retained? You have become corrupt schemes, wicked webweavers, feasting on an empire you did not build, but would most certainly destroy. Your wealth and influence did not serve this nation, only yourselves. When you saw the wickedness and ambition of Tyndareus, you did not rebuke it, but instead ran to join him. If not for the mighty hand I struck him with, you might very well have raised your banners and plunged all the land into civil war. You saw that Olympus was silent and made your god your bellies. You saw that treachery was afoot, and ran to join it. For this, you are brought to ruin. Your sons are dead. Your daughters, exiled. Your lands and treasuries, your flocks and herds, your grain and wine, your oil and your slaves, male and female, all are forfeit. The crown shall devour your whole inheritance, and never again will there be any like you in the land. As for you yourselves, death awaits, and not merely death, but an example. You shall remain forever, a warning to all on the price of treachery.”
Then Cassandra turned to the altar, and took from there a pitcher of seawater. She spoke and began to cast, as the mighty men begged and wailed. Some tried to flee, but chained to their fellows could not escape as the words of the incantation continued.
“Roopaantarit maans par ek paath likhen.”
“Ise parvaton ke patthar ke samaan banane do.”
“To sabhee dekhenge aur hamesha yaad rakhenge.”
Then Cassandra turned and threw the water over them. There was a last collective scream, and then silence. Their flesh became like stone, and their robes and chains also. The traitorous remnant had all been transformed into a great marble statue. Their fear, their despair, their desperation, was now preserved for all time. “Go, take this statue and set it in the gardens on the path to the throne. Let it stand there until the mountains are worn down to dust, so all will see and remember what the price of treachery is.” Cassandra ordered. At this, forty mighty men came together, and carefully began moving the object lesson to its place.
“With that unpleasant business attended to, the past is cast away, only to be remembered. The shadow of Tyndareus shall not haunt this land again. Indeed, I have considered much, how this came about. How was it that so few, in corruption and decadence, turned to treachery and brought about such ruin? It is because they were few and mighty, like little kings unto themselves. They did not need to act with virtue or concern for others, for they said unto one “go here” and another “do this” without care. For they counted in their wealth innumerable slaves, so the slaves outnumbered the citizens. They crushed the honest farmer, and the self-made artisan, by compelling others to do the same work for no pay, and thus undercutting the bedrock of our society. This shall not continue, and shall never be allowed to begin again.”
“Hear me, oh Philopolis. This I enact as the first and greatest of my laws. The institution of slavery is hereby abolished. Every man, woman, and child who had been a slave owned by any citizen of Philopolis or its crown is now free. Neither shall any human or diluvian ever be bought or sold in these realms, but that one would be bought out of slavery to freedom. They shall all be free citizens. To them I will give the lands of their masters for tenancy, to cultivate the land in farms of their own, raising animals and land. To those with skill, the treasuries of their masters shall be given as loans to establish businesses. To those with wit, go forth and buy and sell, fill the land with honest trade and grow wealthy from your cunning. To those with courage, the armies of Philopolis welcome you to fight and preserve your freedom. We shall take the arms of the tyrant, and they shall be for the nation. The armies of Philopolis shall never again be an army that oppresses her people, but shall be my sword and shield with which I and all my posterity will protect our people and their sacred liberties.”
“This all I write by the authority of my crown, the might of my armies, and with the full favor of heaven. Let any who contravene this be accursed, and indeed accursed for six generations. Thus I have spoken, and it shall be done.”
The response to this was not applause, but at first stunned silence. In a single act, Cassandra had turned the entire world upside down. She had torn out the foundations of her kingdom’s economy and prepared to rebuild it from scratch. The sheer monumental weight of this decision hung in the air for a long moment. Then, outside the walls, the people heard, and realized what she said was true. They were all free. As the realization spread, men and women wept with joy, shouted in triumph, and began to sing and dance. The roar of excitement, relief, and unbridled joy could not be contained. For nearly ten minutes nothing could be heard beyond the wall of sound which surrounded the temple. Cassandra had already had the support of the remaining army. She had liquidated the nobles. She was popular with the people, and now with this action, her reputation was utterly invulnerable. Woe to the fool who challenged the liberator.
When the tumult had quelled to a point where Cassandra could be heard, she spoke again. “Hear also, the works I will do beyond the borders. You are all aware of the policies of Tyndareus, his ceaseless ambition and pointless warmongering. This shall no longer proceed. We shall never be lacking when the time comes for war, all who challenge us with the last argument of kings shall be undone. But neither shall it be our sole sword, or our only glory. Our nation’s greatness will no longer only be shown on the battlefield. But if indeed one does foolishly think this weakness, let it be known this day, I have signed a new treaty.” She gestured to Seramis and Leonidas. “At my right hand is the prince of Marathon, and the left, the princess of Achaea. This day, our three kingdoms have formed a pact of mutual defense and free trade. An attack on one shall be an attack on three. Indeed, our generals and armies shall coordinate, that should any need for pre-emptive defense arise, then the full fury of three kingdoms will fall upon those who dare to challenge us. It is my pleasure to announce before you all the formal beginning of the Northern Hellas Alliance!” Thus it would be formally declared, but in time all would come to call it by another name: The Pact of Flames.
After another round of applause, mostly from the army, Cassandra continued. “This is the business of my first day upon the throne, and now it is concluded before all of you. I considered it foolhardy to celebrate only myself. What foolish king dedicates the resources of his nation to proclaiming his own glories? Rather, it will be what I do that shall be my glory, and now we shall indeed celebrate, not my ascension, but that that ascension has already meant and will mean anew. As I told you, a new age is dawning, and I shall bring it forth for the sake of my people and indeed, all Hellas. Let the world hear this day, that the heir of Iskandar has taken her throne, and as my ancestor I will shake this world to its foundations. Go now, let the wine flow and the tables be covered with every delicacy. I give it to you as a gift. Let the songs be sung and the harps be played, an anthem of joy to welcome the new age.”
With that, Cassandra walked out, and the other two members of the trio walked with her. They stepped out into a wall of noise as the people of the three kingdoms acclaimed their champions. They strode down into glory, and sat together to a feast for the ages. Cassandra had initially planned for the celebrations to go on to the evening. Her people had other ideas, and the celebrations continued, wild and joyous, for seven days and seven nights. The people came forth from across the whole nation to offer their fealty and their thanks to the queen and her compatriots, and brought with them gifts of every kind. The whole of Philopolis was filled with singing, music, dancing, and feasting, and it only stopped when it seemed the entire country had run out of wine, and the imports from Achaea and Marathon could no longer keep up.
Seramis might have found the party intimidating at first, but in time she came alive. She feasted on the gossip and the secrets that flowed behind the wine. Every rumor, every plot, every scheme that filled the celebration, from the highest to the smallest, she devoured them and delighted in it all. For everyone from princes to former slaves now saw that the future had been opened, and everyone set new plans in motion to take their own part in that future. She took anything of particular concern, and whispered it in Cassandra’s ear that the young queen would be prepared.
It was during one such whispering that Cassandra called Sera and Leon away. They found their way to a quiet room in the castle, and essentially collapsed into the chairs, or in Sera’s case, onto the floor. The party was delightful, but they were all quickly becoming utterly exhausted. Cassandra groaned. “You know, I understand they want to make this a holiday. I’m all for it, truly, but a holi-day, not holi-week. If I have to do this for a week every year I’m going to cut my reign twenty years short, and I don’t have time for that.”
“I mean you managed to basically turn the world upside down in your first few minutes, so I think you might have some time.” Leonidas joked.
Cassandra smiled wearily at him. “It was the right thing to do. And the first thing I had to do now, because I need it to set everything else up. I have to rebuild a kingdom, perhaps rebuild the world. My great-grandmother lived to be ninety-six, so I’ve got a bit less than eighty years to work with at best. I hope that’s enough time.”
“Well, yes, it is the right thing to do, though I’m surprised that’s the reason you did it. No offense, but you always struck me as a bit more pragmatic than idealistic.” Sera added.
“It secures a permanent base of popular support that will never be challenged. It allows be to divide lands that are far too big for me to manage among such a vast array of small tenants that none of them will ever individually be able to challenge my rule even if they did have support. It floods my economy with new traders and artisans to drive down the price of goods, increasing the overall standard of living. Rents from tenant farmers, loan repayments from the artisans, and of course the increase in tax revenue caused by the increase in economic activity ensure that I have a larger and more stable supply of income for my administration than any other ruler in my nation’s history. I have gained a massive new pool of recruits to reform the army, who will be fanatically loyal, and in the event of war it will be simplicity itself to incite support by claiming an enemy would impose slavery once again. Not to mention it ensures that I will have the support of Marathon and Achaea, while also softening the image of Philopolis before the rest of Hellas, making it possible to begin negotiations and gradually bring Hellas and Ionia into our orbit without conflict. It is the single best way for me to ensure I have everything I need in terms of support, money, control, foreign influence, and military power to enact any remaining changes. I am become absolute, and they will praise my name forever for it.” Cassandra concluded with a sly look.
“So yes, exactly the right thing to do. I am become immortal, which is exactly the point. To overawe those in attendance with massive amounts of popular support and the exceptional power of my foreign support to ensure nobody gets any ideas. It’s essentially a bluff to keep anyone from tampering with us until the kingdom gets back on its feet, one which is working quite well. Unfortunately, my primary target for this decided to not make an appearance.”
“Pretty much the entire civilized world showed up.” Leonidas considered with some concern. “Don’t tell me you were expecting a delegation from Albion or the Scythians.”
“No, though it might have been nice. Ultimately, the threat arises not from the uncivilized world, much of a headache as the scythians will be, but that part of the world, which was once uncivilized, and now is becoming civilized. The latins and the Carthaginians have been growing in power, and inevitably, clashed against one another. The ideal state for us would have been that they rendered one another utterly incapable of further expansion. Instead, the Latins in that collection of mud huts they call Roma have become a serious military power, one my predecessor has antagonized by supporting their rivals in Carthage. Sooner or later, their ambitions will drive them east, and we must be ready for them. My hope would have been that an overwhelming display of power, a united front, and popular support would convince them that moving east would be foolish. However if they do not see it, they will not believe it. And of course there are also those who would not be impressed by the whole empire of Iskandar. With the name of Malphus being spoken again, and the Dilluvians returning to the political stage, the forces of that ancient evil will stir once more.” Cassandra mused with some frustration.
“You do have my apologies for that.” Seramis apologized with some embarrassment. “I wouldn’t have used that name if I knew.”
“Keep your apologies, I want your help.” Cassandra replied with a hint of snark that put Sera on edge, before the young queen laughed. “Taking down Tyndareus was just the beginning. Philopolis will face challenges that have not been seen in hundreds of years. A new age is certainly dawning, but making it a golden age and not a dark age is going to be the effort of a lifetime. It is one I cannot accomplish alone.”
“To that end, I have considered much. Leonidas, your actions in the recent campaigns have proven not only your impeccable courage, but your skill and cunning as a leader of men. The army of Philopolis will need to be rebuilt, adapted into something no longer totally dependent on conscription, but a professional corps supplemented by conscripts. In other words, Marathon’s model. Who better than a prince of Marathon to help lead that effort, and then, win glory as a leader of that army.”
Leonidas’s eyes widened as he considered the offer, and then they fell, his face somewhat downcast. “Are you certain this is wise Cass?” he asked carefully. “I am not experienced in this, and I am a second son, even of a foreign kingdom. This is risky.”
“If it were anyone but you, it wouldn’t be risky, it would be downright idiotic.” Cass replied, joking, but then genuine. “I have seen the kind of man you are Leon. I know I have nothing to fear from you. Moreover, if I wanted to simply replicate an existing army, I could acquire men with more experience. But I do not want to simply repeat history, I want to surpass it. To this end, a man unburdened by age, yet with enough wisdom to see the forest and how each and every tree contributes to it, is exactly the man I need.”
“Then, as long as you’ll have me, so be it.” Leonidas said with a grin. “Let the ties between Marathon and Philopolis grow yet deeper, and establish the next great leap in the art of war.”
“Of course, war shall not be the first answer our enemies bring against us in most cases. Nor shall it be our first response to every problem. Among other things, war is expensive. Rather, subtly, intrigue, and diplomacy shall be new tools in our arsenal. Of course with the degradation in the diplomatic corps, our artistic and cultural pursuits, and spycraft, I should need quite possibly the greatest schemer in all Hellas. The fact that she comes with enough firepower to personally rival me is a nice bonus.” Cassandra replied, turning again towards Seramis.
“No need to lay it on so thick. You’re my friend, of course I’ll help you. The fact you let me just do what I like and what I’m good at is just the cherry on top.” Seramis replied, her face entirely smug. “Though do keep in mind, my diet includes solid gold and magic items, and I’ve still got another, oh, five tons or so to put on.”
Cassandra regarded the horse-sized dragoness in front of her, and then the door. She considered how complicated it had already been for Sera to fit through it, and sighed. “I’ll put a line item in the budget for expanding the doors.” She replied, much to Sera’s amusement. “Well, since we’re all going to be hung over later-“ She mentioned, and retrieved another amphora of wine with three glasses, she poured, then paused. “Perhaps I had better find a bowl for you Sera.”
Seramis regarded the trio of glasses, and then called Elijah out of her shadow. “Do you suppose I could do it now?” she asked the familiar cryptically.
“All magic needs three components.” Elijah replied, looking towards the other two. “You only had one before, which is why it never worked. Give it a try.”
Seramis took a deep breath, and then cast with her three components. Herself, the prince she had taken, and the queen who had come to her. A spell cast in solitude no longer, and in arrogance no more.
“Daj mi forma da odam pokraj niv.”
“Niz denovite na svetlina i senka.”
“Spodeluvanje vo smea i vo tagi.”
Then, there was a light and a blue flame, and Seramis took a hesitant step forwards on two legs. Where once the dragoness stood, now stood a young Greek woman, olive-skinned from the warm Mediterranean sun, with eyes blue like dragonfire. Her hair was short and curly, hung close about her ears, around a face at once noble as a lion’s and mischievous as a cat’s. Black scale melted into a flowing black dress that trailed behind her, decorated with spiraling patterns of twisting silver holly vines. About her curling hair there was a crown of silver, with seven red stones set about it.
She stumbled, unused to walking on two legs. Leonidas stepped forwards and caught her before she could fall. She blushed at that, and Leon looked down to make sure he hadn’t grabbed anything inappropriate in his haste. He hadn’t, but the look earned him a slap anyways, much to Cassandra’s amusement. “Oh to hell with this.” Sera sighed, and snapped in some quick changes. The dress split at the back to allow room for a pair of large black wings, still dyed with flowers of flame. It likewise opened below the knee to allow a greater range of motion, particularly for a newly sprouted tail. Thus better balanced, Seramis stood and strode upright. “I swear, how in the world do you manage to balance with such a ridiculous body plan?”
“I have no idea; it apparently has something to do with the inner ear.” Cassandra replied with a shrug. “Still, it does have advantages.” She stepped forwards and offered Seramis a glass, which the princess took gratefully.
“So, how do I look?” Seramis asked, stepping back and giving a slight twirl to show off her newest shape. “It’s another imagined one, a bit of a combination of those I’ve seen.”
“You’ve seen some excellent women.” Cassandra replied with a laugh. “You are every bit as fair and terrible as Persephone herself.” This earned a slightly jealous look from Leon. She grinned at him slyly. “This is an advantage of speaking too much, you learn exactly what to say to a beautiful woman.”
“Hm, she might have had too much to drink. I am still a dragoness.” Seramis demurred, looking somewhat awkwardly at her new hands. “And rather obviously given the wings and tail. Only so far beauty can go among humans.”
“It is further than you think. I think now that I know what Artemis looks like, when she walks under the moon and stars.” Leon replied, and Sera turned vaguely pink. Cassandra cackled, and nodded approvingly.
“Ye gods, there is some Athenian in our mute Laconian after all! Well, clearly she needs to get used to having skin people can see. If she’s going to be blushing like that every five minutes nobody will take her seriously.” Cass snarked, earning a glare from Sera. That earned a smile. “Ah yes, still a dragoness, and undeniably so. You look good Sera. Don’t worry about it. If nothing else, we have another thing to toast to.” She said with a grin, then raised her glass. “To a new form, and a new age.”
Leon raised his own glass. “To friendship, and the good work ahead of us.”
Sera grinned at that, and raised her own to match. “To us, and all the trouble we’re going to get into!”