The 108 Chapter 40: War Form

Phage leads the way, following a specific path that makes me think we’re avoiding sentries under Antea’s direct control. I have seen few signs of infighting in the Garden, but apparently Phage defies convention in more ways than one. I’ve heard little about him, only that he’s somewhat of a feared duelist and considered as a bit of twat. And by feared, I mean that he’s infamously as annoying as he is dangerous among the station’s martial practitioners. I consider using soul sense to call for help, but I realize that this is a great opportunity. War forms cost a lot of contribution points which I have few ways of reliably obtaining and no way of storing across loops. The more of those Antea and Kimera spend on me, the more attention I draw as an outsider. If I get a free war form from this guy, or at least free advice, it’s actually to my benefit. I might not even die for it!

As we walk deeper in the Garden, leaving the comfort of the residential quarters for the secured depths of the Gene Library, I observe my quiet guide. It occurs to me that grandmasters have cultivated their appearance to an almost obsessive degree. Antea is perfect as the stern matriarch keeping the researchers under control. She’s rather plain for a fleshcrafter, impeccably dressed in an ample black robe with a cowl, and she even adopted the features of a more mature woman despite fleshcrafters basically not aging unless they want to. She is a figure of sober authority, an iron fist under a velvet glove. In a way, she has shed the charm of the maiden and the softness of the mother to fully adopt the grandmotherly presence of the crone (minus the wrinkles), and this was all calculated. By comparison, Phage is the fae prince. From the sculpted abs to the long white hair, with enchantingly alien features, he’s designed to destabilize. Even the violet color of his eyes is modded for the sake of appearance. Dammit, if he grabs my ass, I might squeak. Briefly.

It’s interesting how even with their scalpels, the fleshcrafters prefer a more distracting approach to danger. They could have picked an imposing colossus as one of their public champions, someone who looks like their muscles have muscles, but they’ve decided to add weird Adonis to their roster instead. Like the Garden’s entire purpose is to make Enderlith believe we’re eccentric kinky scientists rather than perfectionist maniacs sitting on enough gigaplagues to depopulate half the galaxy. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it and Phage just was just picked because he was simply the best choice regardless of smut cover potential.

As I watch him, part of his elaborate and rather tight suit shifts, revealing jade scales. Now that I pay attention, there is something serpentine about the way he walks. We enter the opulent lobby of the library and find it empty at this time of night. With the station going to shit, it should have been busy with people about to deploy, but now it’s deserted. This is Phage’s playground. He only needs to gesture for nearby gates to open, leading us deeper in. The walls grow more organic and strange as we walk deeper in which is a sign that there are fewer identification mechanisms and more killing mechanisms hidden within. We soon arrive in front of a large vault door of shimmering crystal, so beautiful and gorged with mana that I think it might be easier to crack the Pearly Gates. A panel rises from the nearby flesh. Phage smiles as he approaches. I look, curious: there is no input or any kind of display. Instead, the shape of a hand occupies a small section of the living bone that forms the structure. That hand turns into a larger hand, then the print of a strange hoof, then a tube with rings, then something that looks like bear tracks if just for the size. Phage smiles as he turns to me. He plants his own hand into the ever-changing slot, transforming it into the clawed feet of a very large bird. His arm morphs into a tentacle as the slot does. He’s gone through two more widely different species before he starts talking. I try not to gawk at the insane display of control.

“This is the test for grandmastery, by the way. No fights, no exams, just this. If your control and range is so good that you can open the vault, this is it. You have demonstrated the skill required to join our hallowed numbers. Of course, there is a lot more politics involved if you want any position…”

“So any grandmaster can come and open the vault?” I ask, a little surprised.

“But of course!” Phage replies.

His smiles extends up his cheeks, propelling him to the very edge of the uncanny valley.

“If I let them. This is my domain.”

The vault is not what I expected. I walk under the canopy of a tropical forest loaded with grotesque meat fruits kept isolated by walls of vegetation. This is one of the hearts of the Garden. Only the gene plague repository might be more isolated, or better hidden. Each of those prepared spheres represents months of contributions, and it’s only one of the several mediums used to store data. I see vials resting under transparent bells, chests and strongboxes locked in trunks. It’s a strange mix between a treasure room and a forest.

“How do you keep all the samples intact?”

“A variety of methods,” Phage replies, sounding bored. “ Depending on the species. Some are in suspended animation, others are living cells allowed to function at low intensity. We have cultures deeper in. All transmission of genes has to go through here, but some sample types are so common that storing them on station has been deemed unnecessary.”

“So there are… other repositories?”

“Of course. Ah, here we are. Hmmm.”

Phage picks several spheres from a cluster of branches. Five in total. He hums merely during the selection process.

“And now, to the testing chamber.”

Already? I follow him, wondering what this was all about. None of what the grandmasters do is without purpose, but I highly suspect he can just pretty much generate the samples using his own mana. The vault locks shut behind us as we travel to side rooms that are still part of his domain. It’s only when I enter that I realize that a ‘testing room’ for a war form must necessarily be an arena at least as large as the one for the combat test. The door predictably closes behind me. Phage finally turns to face me with purple eyes filled with dark amusement. 

“Antea is no fool. One might say she is one of our more grounded members. Shows much concern and long-term planning unlike our more —”

He replaces an errant wild lock behind his elongated ear.

“— mercurial members.”

He looks annoyingly pleased with himself.

“Therefore, I was rather surprised when she took under her wing a new addition to our roster brought in by master Kimera, no less, a woman with the single-minded obsession of a flesh hound fed on burglar testicles. You were granted initiate status, a researcher position and virtually unlimited access to Kimera’s reserves of contribution points. An unprecedented achievement.”

It doesn’t sound like praise. Phage closes the distance between us and now I’m staring up the face of a god grafted on a reptilian head. There is very little in those purple eyes besides cold curiosity.

“It does not make sense. I could accept that you are such a talented lover that you would rob her of her good sense. Did you know that she smells of Larim anis? It’s subtle, of course, a modification of her sudoriferous glands done as a homage to her home world. You are drenched in her scent. You stink of it. And of sex.”

For a moment, I suspect he might be jealous, but there are no emotions bleeding out of either his soul or his features. 

“But you could not have fooled the old lady so easily. People may have forgotten who she used to be, but I have not.”

He caresses the edge of his jaw, as if remembering some phantom pain. 

“So she must be seeing something in you, something deeper than the seduction of young Kimera. At first, I thought you might be some secret scion from the edges of civilization, perhaps even Antea’s hidden child, and yet there are no signs of you anywhere in any of our archives. I even checked the station’s arrival list. You were suddenly a citizen. Before that… nothing. I would assume one of our own would come from a world where we have some reach. But not you. How, then, could you already be so accomplished?”

Phage extends his hand. The five sample spheres land on a hollow ramp that emerges from the ground to welcome them.

“There is… another old thing people have forgotten from the previous game. You see, I met the previous Avatar of Might towards the end of his career. Before he had a little falling out with our dearly disappeared archon. They keep their powers. You are clearly talented, yet quite inexperienced, therefore you are an investment.”

Hmm, this could be getting better than expected.

“So are you going to invest in me?” I ask.

“Nah, can’t be arsed. I’m going to maim you.”

My heart almost skips a beat before I remember I don’t care that much. 

“Before or after I get to pick a war form?”

“After, of course. You will pick a war form and fight me while I limit myself with third awakening speed and one tendrils.”

He raises his arm. His hand smoothly turns into a scaly blade halfway between a snake and a spear.

“Unless you provide me with a pleasant surprise, I will beat the shit out of you, and then I’ll go to the lab and tear your girl in half. Perhaps have a bit of fun with her first. I will not kill her, of course. Antea would not let that go, but I will find my entertainment tonight. Oh, no fear?”

“I’m going to hurt you,” I say, although I realize this is wishful thinking. Or maybe just long-term planning.

“Very confident. I see why Kimera likes you. I will grant you…”

He tilts his head in consideration.

“One Enderlithian minute to pick one of those forms and change into it, if you can, then I’ll attack. Starting now.”

Ok. Well. Let’s go. Free form, and then I get to test it immediately. Let’s see. I touch the five samples and get a feel for them. 

The first is a simplified mantis form, the kind used by Kimera. It’s built for mobility and slicing attacks which makes it fully unsuitable for me. I consider that I might need to diversify my style before remembering I’m in a bit of a hurry. Pass.

The second form is a hulking colossus, a slow and ponderous form that looks like it’s used to withstand a lot of attacks or deal with slow enemies. Useless in a duel and for my style. Also pass.

The third form is less humanoid as it lacks a neck and head. Instead, sensory organs rest on the torso and shoulders while the legs and long arms come from the abnormally strong torso. It’s a form with a good reach. And actual hands. Interesting.

The fourth form is built for speed and possible assassination. I’d call it a werecat but without hair. The claws feel nice. Also interesting.

The fifth shape is tall and spindly. It comes with integrated organs I recognize from loops ago: those are bone propellers. This is a sniper frame, or rather the fleshcrafter attempt at one. I don’t think it could ever compare with a dedicated bow or wand user, but… I suppose it’s good to have the option. It doesn’t matter. It will never provide the damage required to stop Phage before that fucker skewers me. Offering this one was clearly a waste of my time.

So what now?

I have two viable options: speed or reach. Speed might be better to face Phage: he said he would limit himself to third awakening speed, but that’s with his modded body. I might need a fast form just to keep up with him. Reach is good too, and it comes with the added bonus of a humanoid form I would be more familiar with. No way to get a staff though. I cast a quick glance around but… no.

Unless…

Phage sings when he sees me hesitate.

“Forty-nine, forty-eight…” 

Reach form it is. I gobble the sample and add the thing to my library. I immediately work at transforming myself. The mana consumption is alarming, yet still lower than just holding the star aura. I can do it. Things pop. Things crack. I feel myself ballooning as I follow a well-crafted roadmap, following instructions I am still too new to properly understand. It’s not painful but it itches something fierce. I am suddenly so tall.

“Twelve, eleven,” Phage keeps counting, annoyed at having given me too much time, I suppose..

I move my shoulders around a bit to get a feel for the form. I feel strong. In fact, I feel stronger than any other time in my life by an order of magnitude. My arms have a little delay in the way they move because they’re so damn long and muscular and… purple? That motherfucker. I’m the shade of his eyes.

‘Wow, megalomaniac much?’ I send him since I have no mouth. 

His grin isn’t exactly reassuring.

“The Bouncer form? How very pedestrian. Unimaginative. Six, five…”

I take a few strides across the training room, then kneel or, at least, I try to. My center of gravity is all messed up. I look at Phage’s bone blade and his smile as well. I think I know what he wants to do. As discretely as I can, I start calcifying my left arm. Soon my left fist is just fused to my forearm to form a basic club.

“And time’s up.”

Phage starts forward. He wields his spike like a fencing foil, which gives me whiplash. I assume a boxer’s stance. Phage is thoroughly unimpressed. He dives under my first left jab, but is forced back by the next one, and the one after that. The right cross makes him disengage with an upper slice that bites into my war form’s fingers. I lose a few knuckles, which doesn’t hurt. The pain receptors on this thing are weird. The eyes are weird.

I stumble.

Suddenly, there is too much and it’s too strange and I’m lost in this huge overpowered body, like a child’s mind piloting a giant meat suit. There are just too many new inputs I need to keep track of. If only I had a bit more time! I recover, only to realize Phage is standing at a distance, having ignored me all this time.

“I am rather impressed that you could even move around. Perhaps Antea does have a point and you could be worth her time.”

Phage chuckles when his renewed assault hits my bony left arm without damage. I keep him at bay with a series of awkward jabs and crosses, barely moving my legs so as to not lose my balance. I’m getting used to this form. It doesn’t seem to bother Phage in the slightest.

“You know what offends me?” he remarks as if giving a lecture. “You move around the Garden with such poise and confidence as if you had earned that right. Even the children of our people must go through a harrowing years-long process to be accepted in this most hallowed of halls. But you? Right into the arms of our researchers.”

‘Is this what this is about?’ I send.

Phage’s spike wraps around my extended jab like the web of a spider. I was too predictable. Phage jumps over my attack, deftly dodges my hook and plants the spike in my elbow. He then jumps on my back. I freeze time to identify where he’ll land, then roll back before he can reach the war form’s spine. Phage jumps off before I can crush him though my left arm’s messed up. I should rebuild it… wait no, actually, this might help. I fuse the articulation instead. Stand on my right hand, pivot… Phage jumps over a leg sweep and blocks the follow up cross. It sends him flying through the air. I rush after him.

“Oh, no. It just attracted my attention. Then I told myself, what makes this person titillate me besides the obvious favoritism? And then I realized the issue.”

His blade sharpens. It skewers my rigid left arm to the wrist. The information overload makes me falter again.

“You think you’re safe,” Phage accuses. “Safe from the Eternal Game of the 108. You think you can get a free ride through the competition on our back. You take the support of our ancient institution for granted.”

‘I take nothing for granted.’

“You’re arrogant. And that’s me saying this.”

Phage laughs. He charges, left side again. I’m done ossifying my left arm so I grab it at the shoulder and pull. It comes off with the lightest sound of tearing flesh.

My long, improvised staff smashes into Phage’s flank with a ghastly smack but it’s like hitting a wall. He still allows himself to be deflected. The torn arm would have sent a car flying but he’s not even winded.

“I didn’t say I would use third awakening endurance, but I probably should if I want this to last longer than one of your sorry romps.”

‘You want the fight to last for three hours?’

Phage tsks.

“You can quip but I’ll still flay your girl if you fail to entertain me.”

I strike using that unwieldy staff. Everything is wrong. My balance is wrong, my reach is wrong, I’m actually slower but I cover ground faster. The balance of the bone staff is borked to all hells. My strikes grind horribly against the ground, but Phage remains one step ahead. His one tendril is in turn a blade, a rope, a spring. His wispy soul melds with the background in an ever changing mist that hides little because it contains little to begin with. He’s thoroughly unpredictable.

“You know how she cherishes her lab. It’s her sanctum. She feels safe there, in control,” he mocks.

I narrow my strikes. I’m getting used to this, but I’m also running out of mana. It’s like a hollow spot at the center of my chest, a cold absence. War forms require constant energy to function because they can’t sustain themselves naturally. 

“I will walk in without breaking the door. I’ll use my grandmaster override. When she turns, I think I’ll punch her in the face. It always surprises people.”

I’m feeling more in control of the form. Using the staff as a pillar. I kick Phage with a reach he shouldn’t have anticipated, but the grandmaster smoothly jumps on my limb.

He broke his promise. This isn’t third awakening speed or reflex. He’s distracted. He’s really imagining it.

“I know Kimera doesn’t shunt her pain receptors most of the time. I’ll destroy her samples while she recovers on the ground.”

“Focus on the fight,” I hiss.

“Make me. I’ll grab her by the throat while she protests and harps on about rules and violations. I’ll acid burn her samples. I know she prefers books over tablets, very old school that one.”

Another flurry of attacks. I’m sharper now, but also on my last leg and I won’t be able to regrow it.

“Oh, good try. Are you almost done? I will slam her against the counter and bend her over.”

This is it, I’m out. I only have enough to change back and if I don’t, I’ll simply die. The war form will fail, its organs will shut down and I’ll be dead. This won’t do. I haven’t lost just yet, and I will not take the easy way out. My war form melts until only my modded self remains.

“Turning back on time? I figured you’d at least lose consciousness. I suppose Kimera’s not that important to you if you won’t take the risk. Oh, well.”

He approaches, tendril switched back to a plain scaly blade. My entire body’s on fire but that’s ok. I rest an arm on my knee so it’s angled towards him. He’s getting closer.

“I’ll admit, you’re not too bad for an initiate. You remind me of myself”

He’s almost in front of me. Closer. Closer…

“Without the charm, the class, or… the luck.”

There.

Just as my fingers form a claw, I freeze time. My soul spools over my slightly extended hand and in that cradle of energy I pour the white hot rage I’ve been holding back. I ignite that blazing inferno with all the awkward control I have and so it goes in with disorderly chaos, an open sluice rather than a directed stream but it doesn’t matter. Phage is right in front of me and he thinks I’m out of mana. And he won’t get to feel the buildup. I have him. 

Time returns. 

The soul spell triggers. A storm of red bolts explodes in a hellish lashing of undirected violence. The red, thorn-like whips carve paths through the reinforced walls of the room as if they were plaster. The ground is scoured, the ceiling shattered in a rain of masonry. Phage is thrust back through all I see is a fleshy shield. The spell ravages a good half of the room, easily thirty paces spread like a fan from my exhausted hand. It sounds sharp like a thunderclap but with a strange ring, as if the explosion had occurred in a much larger space. 

I am now completely empty. Even my heart is devoid of all the fear and anger it harbored only a few seconds before. I am perfectly calm, very cold, and quite tired. So I sit down. It’s over anyway.

Phage emerges from the debris with his left hand extended in front of him. He’s laughing with a manic intensity as he watches red tracks burnt into his flesh. The wounds bleed slow rivulets of shockingly crimson liquid. 

“Hah! Hahaha! It hurts. I feel pain! How did you do it?”

His eyes widen.

“It’s a soul spell. You used your soul to hurt me, that’s why I can’t heal it. Incredible! How did you manage?”

“Answers were not part of your deal,” a voice says over the room’s sound system.

I felt Antea approach, of course, or I would have called for help as soon as Phage started threatening Kimera. It’s more surprising to me that Phage didn’t, but perhaps he thought his domain more secure, or he got distracted just like he did when he broke the terms of the duel. I wouldn’t call him displeased now, but he’s definitely on edge.

Antea unmakes the door behind me. I can tell from the sound that whatever mechanism sealed it will need replacement. The prim Head of Research comes to stand by my side and somehow it feels she’s occupying the entirety of the room behind me, like I’m standing in front of a very large, very hot organism. Her breath is slow and sounds like the bellow of some ancient forge lodged in the depths of the station. Phage is no less intimidating. It’s just that right now, there are two monsters in the very small room, and only one of them is furious.

“Are we done or do you require… further entertainment?” Antea asks with the tone of someone offering crumpets. 

Phage lifts an arm which I realize is still hurt. He is genuinely not healing. I actually inflicted a soul wound, like bird mask did back on Obis.

“Consider me suitably impressed. You may leave,” Phage replies pleasantly.

For a moment, I feel Antea hesitate. No, not hesitating: she’s holding herself back. Phage still and smiks which doesn’t help. It only lasts for a few seconds though, and then we’re walking back towards personal quarters.

“How did you find me?” I ask while we reach one of the many strange lifts hidden around the Garden.

“If Phage believes he can take a path that avoids all the people who report to me, he’s sorely mistaken. I have so many contingencies in place that I’m almost disappointed he didn’t come up with a better plan. I would have turned you into a cube and used a crate to move you around, for example.”

“If I could be scared, I would be,” I assure her.

This emotional refractory period is getting unpleasant. Antea sighs. A tinge of annoyance breaks through her control.

“I would have expected you to be more cautious.”

“I figured that the free, curated war form would be worth it since this is something I will keep across the loops.”

“Oh?” she says with some surprise. “You actually considered that?”

“And so did you, or you would have intervened sooner,” I say, a bit reproachfully because this scolding is feeling hypocritical. “I felt your presence. You allowed the duel to finish. You may even have prevented it from starting.”

Antea chuckles and I feel a little pinch of emotion returning and this is very welcome. Also, the emotion is pride and it’s been in rather short supply, lately.

“Well done, initiate. Your performance tonight has been satisfactory.”

“I have one more question,” I say, cutting her off.

Antea turns her face towards me and now she’s the matron again. I think I’m only noticing it now but it looks like she adjusts her face in real time so it edges the boundary between serious school principal and ‘exec who aged like a fine wine’ on demand, depending on the kind of reaction she is trying to get. Am I being manipulated? Undoubtedly, but I don’t care that much unless I don’t like the answer to my question. She’s ancient. I don’t think she can even stop herself from influencing me at every turn.

“Would you have allowed Phage access to Kimera?”

“There are no loops now and forever where I would allow this to happen, initiate,” Antea replies and the outrage in her voice is not faked. “Kimera is my people just as much as you are. My most esteemed colleague might need a reminder about where we stand.”

It looks like she may want to add something else before reconsidering. The rest of the ride is done in silence.

At least I got my war form.

***

Phage doesn’t bother me for the rest of the loop, nor does he approach Kimera in any way. I can’t tell if he was sufficiently amused or got distracted by the worsening situation, or if Antea did something. At least I get to keep my war form even though I manage to isolate and neutralize the purple coloring — so tacky. The war form is good. I’m just exploring the very edges of the possibilities it offers. For example, I can also supercharge the metabolism and even focus on different aspects of it should I choose: more speed, more strength, strange flexibility. I just need more mana reserves which, I am told, naturally increase with practice. That war form is really a wonder of genetic engineering and flesh crafting. And that’s just one among many. I’m getting more and more convinced that the only thing stopping the guild from being a military juggernaut is that most of us cannot possibly be arsed. 

The station performs a bit more poorly than usual, this time. Kerentis starts her rampage sooner but, weirdly, focuses on the Outskirts. I suspect misdirection shenanigans. Soon, however, the empress casts her gaze on the guilds and I am again in Antea’s office while outside, the ancient guardians fight a doomed delaying action.

“It is time. I gather Kimera already gave you the last of her nodules?” Antea asks.

“Yes.”

I breathe deep. Those are the last moments I am spending with those versions of the people I have been with over the past few months, and it never gets easier. 

“I would like you to store a few memory nodules for me, as well. If that is fine.”

I pause for a moment because this wasn’t mentioned before. I have already copied her updated notes for this run. She’s also remarkably still.

“If I do not impose, of course. I wouldn’t want to presume.”

“Alright, enough with the half-secrets. Kimera blushed like a maiden when she offered the first nodule so I got to ask, what is this about?”

Antea doesn’t react at all.

“No need to be bashful,” I tell her with a polite smile.

“You are taking liberties, young one, but I will indulge you this once. Nodules exchange is considered extremely intimate in our community because you can feel everything the other person feels should you know how to read it — which most of us do. It means you know exactly how they feel about you if any of the memories concern you directly. As such, an exchange of nodules is usually reserved between life partners. I, obviously, am able to keep my emotions under full control if you could even read those and if I even cared, but Kimera is still so young.”

“Why did she even suggest this method if she was going to be so embarrassed about them?” I ask with a bit of impatience.

Antea rests her chin on pale hands, crimson eyes unreadable. 

“I assume that when she considered the option, she was her researcher self with no personal life and no clue she would end up banging you in our practice room which, I must remind you, is against regulations. She never was the type to break the rules before meeting you.”

“Uh. Sorry. We got carried away.”

“And we are running out of time. If you could?”

“Ah, yes, please give.”

I absorb the nodules as quickly as I can while the Garden shakes from the impact. I hear a scream of rage at some point which I assume means the ancient awakened guardians are durable enough to frustrate even Kerentis, although I assume she’s trying not to destroy the station. Adding so many nodules feels… weird. My flesh affinity allows me to store genetic material without limits but this sort of stretches the definition and it takes a lot of effort to increase the number of nodules. I fear that any more than that at my level and I’ll start mixing memories which could be very problematic. 

“Are you done?” Anea asks. She’s standing and there is something strange with her aura. The ground shakes. “I can grant you a few more moments…”

“No, I’m done.”

“Good. One last thing, avatar.”

We hear a crash.

“If I ever find out you had sex in my office while I was away…”

I start the reset and finish the loop being threatened by one of my allies.

***

“I mean, I didn’t even think about it. But now I’m thinking about it and I’m not even interested. I guess there would be qualia involved.”

Chronos tilts his head to the side with the kind of smile someone has when they’ve already called the cops on you. I suddenly feel very embarrassed.

“Sorry, not the discussion I should have with the twin head of a pantheon.”

“You would certainly not have better odds with my dear sister, but don’t worry. I receive a great many prayers. Let us just say that mortals are not known to use their time wisely.”

“I guess.”

“But if you’re done oversharing, I wouldn’t mind changing the topic,” he continues, ever impeccable.

“... sorry.”

“With that said, the average age of first marriage for men in the United Kingdom is 31, so I would like to congratulate you on being only slightly late.”

“Hey, technically I’m still 25.”

The two gods exchange a glance.

“You can tell yourself that if that makes you feel better, my champion,” Chronos grants with a benevolent smile.

“You needed divine help,” Morag rasps.

The cads.

“I don’t need divine help right now. I have a war form. Alright!”

I slap my knees, finish my cup and stand up. I don’t need more skills right now: practicing those I have will take all of my dedication. 

Time to go.

***

Icacalu’s voice wavers with emotion as she finishes her tale, and even the carpet conspirationist next door holds his peace. Probably because he doesn’t want to be eaten.

“Because we could only see greed, we are cursed not to see the light.

Because we refused to leave, we are cursed never to depart.

Our bodies grew as twisted as our hearts

And our minds as brutal as the Depths.”

“But one day, the Founder will be reborn!

Those who kept the way, he shall redeem.

He will cradle us from the dark.

Open our eyes like newborn babes.

One day, we won’t be forsaken.

The gates will open, the path will clear.

The Founder will love us once more.

And to the stars, guide us.

And so we wait.”

Icacalu nodded to herself and let out a trill, a strange cry that echoed over the abandoned houses of the silent district. It was a call from the depths that no local denizens dare challenge. I wait a respectful amount of time before commenting.

“I see, so your king will return from the dead to guide you in your hour of need? Very Arthurian of you, my dear,” I tell her.

“What’s a ‘Turian’?”

“It’s an alien species from the Mass Effect franchise but that’s not important right now. Thanks for the saga, and I appreciate it. Too bad you won’t join my fight, but I understand.”

Icacalu slaps her skeletal mitts together.

“The conflicts of the surface are forbidden to us, friend. I will join you should you need help in the depths. The true depths,” she finishes. “So, are you going after this Malice?”

“Yeah. I don’t have a way to disarm the bomb yet, but I want to find out if I at least can get close. It’s time to poke the bear.”

“It sounds like a difficult fight.”

“Yes, but it’s time for me to start chipping at that specific problem. Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

End of Book 2